


A Qunundrum

by Halfblood_Fiend



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, From Sex to Love, Hallucinations, Jealousy, Knight Captain Rylen at his finest, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Mild Smut, Poisoning, Sexual Content, Sparring, Starkhaven Brigade, Swearing, Swordfighting, Violence, copious smut and swearing to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knight-Captain Rylen was a simple man just trying to get through his new life in the Inquisition. Keram Adaar is a Qunari, enough fucking said. He made the grievous mistake of ignoring his instincts, and accepted the beautiful Qunari's offer--after all, a woman is a woman right? And she's got an ass to die for!--but every moment after...was completely unplanned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Was An Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up love story to Quenching the Thirst in the Western Approach.  
> This story takes place after that, so if you haven't, you should go back to my Works, read it, and come back to this.  
> If you don't wanna, it's really your loss, but I'll sum it up for you:
> 
> They had the sex.
> 
> Okay, now that about brings you up to speed. :D  
> Enjoy the story whose headcanons have been consuming my life!

Inquisitor Adaar—or was he now allowed to use her first name?—and her band of misfits left early the next morning to start their return journey to Skyhold. Good thing too, or she would have caught Rylen wandering around the keep with the stupidest fucking grin plastered across his face for the entire day. Many recruits asked him about it, but he only answered them with a shrug and a simple, “It’s a lovely day out.” Rylen could only laugh at their baffled expressions as he walked away and left them to their ragged hangovers. He knew good and well that in the Western Approach, lovely days plain didn’t exist, and that made his private joke all the sweeter.

He was unspeakably giddy, being given another go at their beautiful leader before she left and he rode that high all day. Nothing brought him down. Not the reports that the nearby cliffs were infested with a pack of hyenas. Not that raiders were wandering too close to Inquisition caravans. Not even the sweltering, oppressive heat wiped the smile from his face.

In fact he rode his lingering high for a great many days, and as things steadily slipped back into business as usual, Rylen thought the feeling had finally left him entirely.

Except that _it didn’t_. In actuality, it had only shifted.

He noticed the change the moment he received a raven bearing a missive from the Inquisitor. A foolish hopefulness reared up in his chest and swelled to bursting. At least, until he read over the slanting words of her letter. They were expressionless, doing nothing but detailing a movement of Venatori into his area that needed dealing with.

Rylen crumpled the letter in disgust, too disappointed to be rational and cursed himself.

 _Well, what the fuck did you think was going to be in it?_ The stupid anticipation that had blossomed in his heart had gone, dropping straight to the pit of his stomach in humiliation. He cursed himself over and over witheringly. What the fuck did he even _want_ to be in that letter, anyway? Was he expecting some declaration of undying devotion from her? No, not a _declaration_ , but a…a… _what?_ A “thank you”? An “I miss you”? A— _oh,_ _sod all of it!_ He sneered at the turn of his thoughts and ran his fingers angrily through his shock of black hair, storming away from the messenger cages, fuming.

“A reply, Ser?” the timid boy attending to the birds called after him.

“No! I don’t fucking think so,” Rylen snapped over his shoulder.

It wasn’t the boy’s fault, he told himself. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but the jumbled mix of disappointment and self-depreciation boiling in him made him too-short tempered for anyone’s good. The boy was just his first victim. And if he had any say about it, there was going to be many more. The soldiers he was about to drag out of bed weren’t going to thank him, but at this point the sheer absurdity of thinking her letter might have actually been a letter for _him_ made him not care in the slightest. He was going to be unnecessarily snappy, he was going to strike down that band of Venatori, and woe to anyone who stepped in his way.

Rylen attacked his folly again. _And why would you even think that?_ he spat at himself. Why would he believe that a few long conversations and some sex would make a woman like _that_ write to him? Stupid! It was fucking stupid! And he felt the idiocy of it so deeply, it stung.

Keram— _Inquisitor Adaar_ —was another woman that had come to him during a celebration for a bit more fun, _nothing more_. _Andraste’s ass!_ He’d done it before on several occasions _himself!_ A bit of mindless fun, maybe a distraction, that was all those things had ever meant to him. Why then did he feel like he had just received a punch to the gut? Rylen _knew_ that he shouldn’t have been as shocked and hurt as a young Chantry Sister spurned by her Revered Mother, but somehow he _did_. In his younger days, he had made a bed with a woman for a night and then left in the morning without batting an eye. He did so just as surely as Keram had left him a week ago. Now the sick churning made him wonder. Did those girls back then always feel this kind of…abandonment?

With a scowl, he tried to wave the feeling away, swallow the bitterness that made his mouth go dry as he reached the barracks. Rylen slammed his helmet on his head and grimaced. He was a soldier, damn him, not a blighted bleeding heart. He had work to do and now was not the time to stand around wanking over a woman, talking in circles about his stupidity. Rylen snorted and pushed the barracks door open.

He was _just_ an idiot and he _knew_ it. There was nothing else to wonder about.

“Up and at ‘em, you lazy sods! We’ve got Venatori fuckers in our desert and they are late for an appointment with the Maker!”

* * *

 

“It was short work, only a few wounded. Feel free to label _that_ a victory. Tell ‘em the Varghests are getting territorial. Additional reinforcements for that would be _great_.”

Rylen eyed the scribe who took down his words, his foot tapping impatiently. Reports took double the sodding time to send in, now that the Spymaster insisted that they be coded. She was afraid they could be intercepted by Corypheus’ agents. Rylen figured that any agent who had the _patience_ and _ability_ to wrestle a fucking _bird_ from the _sky_ deserved to read the Inquisition’s stupid grocery lists. He had tried writing them himself in the beginning, but gave up. The code the Spymaster used was complicated as all hell. It wasn’t worth his time or frustration just so the Commander could read Rylen’s own messy scrawl.

His stomach growled and he glared up at the sky irritably. _Hot_. It was still hotter than mage-fire here, even in the evening. Weren’t deserts supposed to get _cold_ at night? Why was _everything_ fucked up in Orlais?

As the boy continued scribbling, another raven fluttered down from the sky. Just as before, the bubbling anticipation bloomed over him regardless of how hard he tried to stamp it out. _That letter is not for you. That letter is not for you. Get over yourself, Rylen!_ The boy untied the letter carefully and read over it. Rylen couldn’t help watching his face hopefully for any hint of reaction.

“Uh, Ser?”

_“What?”_

“It’s the Commander. Your presence is requested at Skyhold.”

* * *

 

On the one hand, Rylen thought miserably as the gates to Skyhold opened up before him, he wasn’t in the desert any more. On the other hand, he was going to _have_ to see the Inquisitor at some point during his stay and he had no idea what in the world he would say to her. Would he even say anything to her? Was there even anything to say? He couldn’t honestly be sure.

The bout of nervousness that erupted in his stomach had him staunchly swearing, no, he would not speak to her about it. He would do anything if he could kill the sudden desire he had to talk to her again. He felt foolish and young, with no desire to ever be _either_ again.

When his mare was met by the waiting Horsemaster Dennet and Commander Cullen, Rylen had firmly decided—after much arguing with himself—that he would leave the situation be and try his best never to encounter the Qunari temptress during his stay.

He and Cullen exchanged wide but tired smiles as Rylen dismounted. “I see that desert has done _nothing_ to brighten your mood,” Cullen chuckled as shared a quick embrace.

“What are you talking about? I’m always in a good mood.”

“Of course you are.”

They strode together towards the larger courtyard of Skyhold, Cullen explaining that the stonemasons had—yet again—managed to not touch the repairs on the stairs closest to his office. Rylen offered his condolences, wondering aloud if they were all lady-masons and were simply looking for an excuse to parade Cullen’s pretty face around the courtyard. He made a show of grumbling, though in truth, Rylen could use the stretch of the brisk walk after sitting astride a horse for the better part of four days. He was certain he was probably walking oddly and would continue to do so for at least another _day_. He let himself appreciate Skyhold despite his personal misgivings. In the late afternoon, the sun barely filtered over the mountaintops, and even then, its rays were only just barely warm. After being stuck in the blasted Approach so long, the weak sun was a welcome change, but his new problem became his leathers that couldn’t keep the Frostback’s chill from reaching his skin. Always _something_ for him to find fault in, wasn’t there? At this rate of change, from the ice-encrusted Haven that froze his nipples off, to the chilled Skyhold where the snow couldn’t stick because of the biting wind, to the sweltering Western Approach that cooked him in his armor, he would never fully acclimatize to anything, and that made him miss Starkhaven for the first time since he had left it. Rylen couldn’t suppress a shiver as they made their way towards Cullen’s office, exchanging overdue pleasantries.

“Ser Barris will be waiting for us upstairs. It was his intel that led us to the Venatori detail your men so effectively handled—”

As they neared the steps next to the training area, an entirely new spectacle drew Rylen’s attention away from both Cullen and his own shivering.

Two hulking Qunari, a male and a female, sparred against each other in the training ring. Their grappling and dexterous sword play had attracted a following of cheering fans. Rylen's eyes widened at the large, shirtless, limber bodies spinning away from each other, thinking that they were far too big to have any right being so graceful. He was enraptured with their flowing movement, the strikes against each other that could probably _shatter_ **_his_** bones, and he watched the female admiringly, if nothing else but for her sheer power. Until the lady Qunari wielding a training sword like a staff spun so he could actually get a good look at her. With an audible gulp and a twinge of nerves, he recognized her as Keram.

She tossed her mane of wild black hair over her shoulder and twirled her makeshift staff behind her, circling the other Qunari, the one that was almost always in her party, the Ben-Hassrath, the Iron Bull. Keram sneered at him and shot some kind of taunting remark Rylen was too far away to hear but it must have been something fiery; many of the soldiers shouted for her. The giant Charger countered with a wide smile, flexing his muscles at her, and received an almost equal chorus.

Then with a shout, Bull charged, and Rylen felt himself tense up as he watched Keram stand immobile on the other side of the ring. _Move, lass..._ But, he needn't have worried.

At the last second, Keram knocked Bull's blow aside, tensed her powerful muscles and with a crack that echoed against the walls of the castle, she met his charge _head_ on. The crowd burst into loud applause. Their heads bowed, the two Qunari locked into a battle with their horns, attempting to shake each other, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the other's glistening grey skin. Rylen was reminded of the rams that roamed the steppes of Starkhaven, except that _these_ rippling creatures in the ring laughed and spat words at each other. The snorting, however, was still much the same. All the sinewy muscles of her neck and back flexed taut, Keram lurched aside with a mighty toss of her head and Iron Bull stumbled backwards. Before he could regain his footing, the mage-warrior had charged again, her head bowed, and knocked Bull flat on his back.

The cheering that followed became next to deafening.

Cullen chuckled lowly from beside him. His tongue clicked as he shook his head and said, "They _amaze_ me. How the Qunari haven't taken Tevinter yet is beyond me. With only a _ship-full_ of soldiers they had nearly taken Kirkwall!"

"I know I sure wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of _that_ ," Rylen agreed. His eyes wandered perhaps too appreciatively over Keram's sweaty body again and recalled when he had felt those muscles tense against him in an entirely different set of circumstances. The tightening in his breeches had him gasping before he could stop himself. Andraste's fucking tits! Those were _not_ the images he wanted to conjure when he had already sworn himself away from her. Damn it, _stop_ _!_

"Shall we continue?"

"I..."

Rylen froze mid-step and watched the two Qunari, fury shooting suddenly through his body.

The crowd dispersed, Bull and Keram conversed with far too much touching for Rylen's liking. Then as Keram moved to take their practice swords back, he watched as Bull's hand tangled into her loose hair and yanked her back to his body. Rylen saw the man's hungry smile as his face leaned towards Keram's exposed throat, his other hand running from her thigh, up over her stomach, briefly squeezing a breast and then coming to rest tightly over her throat. Rylen grew unfathomably furious, his lip curling. Hot anger rolled off him in waves, and he shook with the overwhelming desire to charge forward and smash his fist into Bull’s fucking face without any regard for how much _bigger_ the Qunari man was. He just barely managed to keep his fists clenched at his sides, trying to tell himself that he had no fucking right to Keram's personal life. However, his voice of reason was being completely overshadowed by the one that snarled, _Get your fucking hands off of her!_

And then Keram reacted in a way that stunned Rylen with what could only be called pride.

She elbowed the Iron Bull sharply in gut and when he coughed and doubled over, she used the hand that had travelled her body to yank him into a punch that nailed him square in the nose. As he fell to the floor groaning, she hit him so hard with the practice swords, they snapped in two over his back. She tossed the pieces carelessly at him and stalked away, leaving him curled in the dirt.

 _Now **that** is a woman!_ Rylen felt the strangled release of laughter catch in his chest, but he was too busy being shocked to remember how to open his mouth.

Keram caught sight of him standing beside Cullen and suddenly changed direction. Rylen's heart, much to his disgust, picked up an erratic pace.

"Ah, Captain, you've made it," she said as she stopped before them, her hip rounding alluringly to one side. What he wouldn't give to smooth his hand over the enticing curve again— Rylen caught himself staring and snapped his gaze back up to her face. Maker take him, this was going to be more difficult than he thought.

"Yes," Cullen replied after Rylen let her words linger in silence for too long. "I was about to brief him about Knight-Templar Barris' findings before we brought him into the War Council to report."

A loud half-groan, half-laugh came from where Bull was left in the ring, "Awhaw, no, _Boss_ , come back!"

Rylen felt the heat of his anger return to him as he looked past the Inquisitor to glare at the cross-legged fiend laughing in the dirt. Much to his annoyance, the Qunari man didn't look the least bit shaken from Keram's very physical rejection.

"Don't look at him, Captain. That only encourages him," Keram said shortly. Rylen's eyes found hers and he felt the ground drop from beneath him. She graced him with the tiny upturn of her lips which he returned with his lopsided smile. Such a small gesture, he realized, and he was turning into a pitiful disgrace with how badly he yearned for the curve of her lovely mouth. What a wretch he was! A cursed and tiresome thing, compared to her. Her smile stirred inside him, and what did he have to offer her in return? Nothing, and yet somehow he still hoped she would have him. Fucking stupid.

Cullen seemed completely unaffected by the tiny movement that had given Rylen new life and instead of gasping as Rylen had, he laughed. "It's always good for any leader to find themselves on their backs now and again."

Rylen immediately thought of that exact position, the one he had had their Inquisitor in not too long ago. He coughed uncomfortably, the chill of Skyhold quickly becoming a nonissue for him.

"That it is," Keram mused in a tumbling laugh. Rylen didn't fail to catch the swift glance in his direction. "Just name a time, Commander, and we'll see which of us is in the dirt."

"And humiliate myself in front of my men?" Cullen replied amiably, totally oblivious to how badly this turn of conversation was affecting Rylen. "Perhaps not. I'd very much like to keep some shred of my dignity intact."

Keram laughed. "Suit yourself." She dipped their head to each of them. "Until the meeting then?"

They made to part ways, Rylen raising his praises to all the gods he knew of for delivering him from that fantastic woman before he did something he would regret, until Cullen paused.

"Ah, Keram?"

 _I'll kill you for this, Cullen_ , Rylen swore as the stunning Qunari fixed them both with her emerald gaze again.

"After our briefing, we were going to head to the Herald’s Rest. Would you like to join us?"

Rylen just about had a heart attack.

Keram sighed heavily. "Would that I could, Cullen. But our ambassador is dead set in transforming me into a proper Orlesian lady, frilly dress and all, before the ball at the Winter Palace." She pulled a face that told Rylen exactly what she thought about that. He found himself laughing, perhaps a bit too loudly. He snapped his mouth shut, feeling the blighted embarrassment creep over him again. "It’s a lesson in etiquette for _this_ barbarian tonight, I'm afraid."

Cullen laughed. "How unfortunate. Best of luck then."

"Beware the dreaded frills, lass. If you don’t watch them, they’ll get you as surely as any blade," Rylen found himself blurting. He immediately made a face at how stupid what he said had sounded. _Beware the frills—What the fuck was that even supposed to mean, Rylen?_

But Keram either didn't care, or was polite enough to keep her snide comments to herself. She laughed at him, encouraging heat to blossom in his chest. "I will keep your advice close, Captain. You have my word that I will never wear a frilly dress. I don't care how much Josephine yells at me. That's not happening."

Rylen had to agree with her. A frilly, Orlesian-style dress was one he could never picture the towering woman in. However...a _satin_ one? One that clung over all the luscious curves of her body, perhaps with a long slit running all the way to her upper thigh—

Andraste preserve his sorry soul. He needed to shove his head in a horse trough before he drove himself mad!

"As long as _you_ are the focus of Josephine’s wrath, and not me," Cullen chuckled. "Now, Rylen, shall we?"

"Please." _Before I make an even bigger ass of myself_ , he finished silently.

They nodded their goodbyes at one another before Rylen followed closely on Cullen's heels, adjusting his armor uncomfortably and wondering just what the fuck he had done to deserve this shit.


	2. He Was A HUGE Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen seeks help from his useless comrades but finds himself forced to face his problem by his own sorry self.

Of all the boisterous taverns Rylen had been to in all his days, the Herald's Rest had to be his favorite.

And it wasn't the rowdy laughter, or the dwarf spinning tales of the Champion and the Herald in the corner, or the band of Chargers that liked to challenge anyone who could still walk straight to drinking contests, it was the camaraderie that had seemed to spring out of nowhere and infect the ranks as surely as a spread of the Blight. Rylen was so awed by it that he never missed an opportunity to come and be swept away into the madness. He looked over unruliness with appreciation. The Inquisition had gathered the brunt of its forces by damn _accident_ and they'd all been through enough of the dark Magister's shit to come together despite all odds. There was a strong bond in respect, the kind usually earned with long years of working side by side rather than simple necessity. Not even within the Order at Starkhaven had his men truly reached this point. The fact that the Inquisitor had inspired it out of nothing was damn impressive.

And there he went again.

It was always the fucking same.

For the entire afternoon as it crept into the evening, Rylen's thoughts had always somehow managed to wander towards Inquisitor Adaar. He only wished that he could say each time was as innocent a wandering as this one. The blighted woman occupied his mind more now that he knew how close she was to him. Somehow the thought that he could go and talk to her whenever he wished wasn't actually making the restless anticipation better, it was making it _worse_. He had a War Council to look forward to in the morning when he had a real reason see her again and the waiting made it damn near impossible to focus on anything. It was everything he could do to stay his feet and not seek her out, though what he would say, he had no blighted idea. His mind wiped frustratingly blank whenever he interacted with her and if his earlier encounter told him anything, it was that he could hardly make himself sodding _think_ past the nerves. The fucking nerves. The Maker-damned butterflies he thought had been behind him from his younger years had suddenly deemed it appropriate to resurface and reduce him to a bumbling idiot in front of Keram.

And if the fucking _butterflies_ didn't kill him, it would be the recurring playback of Iron Bull’s wandering hand over and over in his head. After some careful (and somewhat intoxicated) introspection, he realized that he had never actually been worried for her or disapproving of a soldier overstepping his bounds, he had been _jealous_. Rylen groaned and stared sullenly into the depths of his tankard. Fucking jealous. _Him!_ Over someone he had no rights to, no claim on at all. _Jealousy_ : the other emotion that was reserved only for stupid young boys who puffed their chests out to impress each other as a girl passed by. It made him fucking _sick_ to think that he had been drawn unwittingly into a dick measuring contest. He was supposed to be more mature than that by now, wasn't he? Yet he grew even sicker when he realized that each time he relieved the episode in his mind, his blood boiled over with envy again.

This is what occupied him while sitting at a table in a tavern surrounded by his friends. What he _should_ have been doing was flirting with the barmaids. If he was a lucky bastard, he could take one to a dark corner somewhere and erase the memory of Keram's flushed skin with some new sod. The fact that he kept dismissing each girl that attended their table in favor of brooding over the Inquisitor could only mean trouble. Andraste guide his sorry ass.

Snarling more at himself than anything, he took another swig of ale and slammed his empty tankard down on their table more forcefully than he intended.

“Woah,  _slow down_ , Rylen!” the ever cheery Michel de Chevin sniggered from behind him, laying a heavy hand over Rylen’s mug.

When Rylen had first met the Orlesian Chevalier, he had thought him the prissy sort akin to the nobles he’d encountered. The kind that he would have rather never fucking dealt with. Chevin’s pretty face and fancy hair had been deceiving, however. There was no denying his uncanny knack with the troops and his eagerness to pass on his many refined skills. Then, after many a begrudging late night spent listening to his tales of being the Empress’s guard, Rylen had warmed to the tall man with an easy voice and casual friendliness. Any other night, he would have been glad to compare more stories from their respective orders and snort derisively at the fucked up inner politics they were both glad to leave behind, but tonight, Rylen was finding Chevin’s liveliness increasingly tiresome.

“Leave him be, Chevin,” Cullen warned over his own large tankard. For the commander of the Inquisition’s soldiers, Cullen could turn surprisingly lax when he was put in settings like these. The man was quickly and easily swept up in the tides of the tavern. It was just too bad he couldn’t swim to save his damn life. Commander Cullen wasn’t very good at checking his tongue  _or_ holding his liquor. On more than one occasion Cullen had managed to find himself a victim of the Chargers or had sunk to a level not  _quite_ befitting of his post. Luckily, Rylen or Chevin were usually there to sort him out and drag him back to his office. One thing was for certain though, Cullen had come a long way from the drained Knight-Captain-turned-Commander that Rylen had met back in Kirkwall.

“Or what?” Chevin challenged genially. The Chevalier thumped Rylen hard on the back.

“Or you’ll find your dainty nose on the wrong side of your skull,” Rylen growled at him, knocking Chevin’s hand away.

Completely unfazed, Chevin laughed exuberantly and motioned for the barkeep to pick up their empty tankards, calling for more. Rylen was usually happy to laugh with his boisterous friend. He would have loved nothing more than to join in on the much needed down time in a place where his hair didn’t always stick to his fucking face, but nothing was dislodging the dark cloud of self-loathing he found himself wallowing in tonight. Not the friendly faces, and certainly not the piss excuse for ale that the dwarf insisted on importing form Kirkwall.

“Don’t mind him, Michel,” Barris piped up from Rylen’s right. Quiet and shy as always, the lad had garnered a knack for finding just the right moments to speak. “He’s just mad about—”

Did Rylen say  _right_ moments? He had meant  _aggravating_. _“Don’t say it!”_

“He’s pining over our lady Inquisitor!” Cullen said quickly, half choking on his ale in his haste to get his word in. His bout of snickering made him just barely dodge the swipe Rylen aimed at his carefully-styled head.

As the Templars lost themselves to suspiciously girlish giggles, Rylen groaned, slumping forward in his chair.  _Here it comes, the worst earful of my shit life._

Chevin kept his composure, at least, but his grin fell from abruptly his face. The ridiculously handsome blonde man looked at Rylen with wide, astonished eyes. “No!”

“Don’t—” Rylen grunted.

“ _NO!_  You  _dog!_  Rylen!” he cried, shoving Rylen’s shoulders. His bright blue eyes danced with a mirth that only made Rylen surlier.

“Yes,” Cullen chortled. “You should have seen him today while she trained. If this man’s mouth had hung any lower, he would have  _tripped_  over it.”

“E-even by the time he got to Cullen’s office, he was  _still_  drooling,” Barris snickered, elbowing Rylen gently.

“I hate  _all of you_.”

Chevin threw his head back and _roared_.

“Oh, yes,” Rylen sneered bitterly. He snatched his refilled tankard to him as soon as it was set on their table. “Ha _ha_ **_ha_** _!_ Let us _all_ have a go at the miserable sod that’s bitten off more than he can chew. Mention it again and I _will_ fight each and _every_ one of you.”

“Come now, Rylen. Don’t be like that,” Cullen eased, relaxing back into his chair. His normally level gaze was slightly unfocused. His cheeks were rosy and Rylen didn’t miss the Commander’s slight slur. Rylen chuckled darkly at his superior. Cullen had only _just_ managed to finish one lousy mug to Rylen’s two and Chevin’s three. Knowing _that_ made Rylen feel a little better.

“I would see you try,” Chevin said, tossing himself into the seat opposite. If only Rylen could conceivably reach across and wipe the smug look off the Chevalier’s face. “But come now, all jests aside, why is the great Knight-Captain _pining_ and not…” The way Chevin waggled his eyebrows made Rylen grimace.

“As if I would tell—”

“He can’t talk to her,” shrugged Cullen. “Though I would think the talking was the easy part—”

“Cullen…” Rylen paused and swallowed his biting remark about what had _actually_ been easy. “You have no idea.”

“I do!” Cullen laughed, his brows shooting up. “I talk to her _every day_ , in fact.”

Rylen was too short-tempered for this shit. He scowled at his nearly full mug, and wondered if he could pound it back fast enough to run away before they asked him any more invasive questions.

“Is it that she does not acknowledge you? She is wooed by someone else? _What?”_ Chevin pressed. “We cannot help you if you do not tell us, you know.”

“I just…” Rylen sighed heavily. His head already felt heavy with drink and he knew himself too fully to believe this could end well. Would it matter much in the end if he let his reservations out into the open? Maybe the Maker would bless his sorry ass and his friends would actually have worthwhile advice. He glanced over each of their waiting faces. It was _unlikely_ they _would_ …but they _could_. _Andraste’s tits, you are ever the fool_ , he thought, running his hand over his face. “I just know bullocks about Qunari. I…” He hesitated over telling them about his more memorable tirade with the Inquisitor. Would she approve of this boasting? Maybe she was a private woman? Did she care either way? Rylen realized he knew next to nothing about her aside from how lovely she looked when she was naked and what a fearsome fighter she was. Fuck it. This hell he was caught in couldn’t possibly get worse, could it? He lowered his voice so as not to be heard over the tavern din, so that his friends had to lean in to hear him. He could at least preserve that much decorum. “I have _already_ taken her to bed.”

Cullen and Barris blushed brightly, but Chevin’s face split with a knowing, roguish smile.

“And you do not wish to leave it at that?”

“I _would have_ , if I could stop thinking about the damn woman long enough to breathe, but I _can't_. I know nothing about Qunari and I can’t seem to shake her. I don’t know what the fuck to do next!”

Rylen glared at all of them as they took pensive swigs of their ale. He wasn’t very optimistic they would have much for him, but, if nothing else, Rylen had felt the tense tightness in his chest that had plagued him all day alleviate somewhat.

The silence between them stretched on, and as it did, it sapped any hope he might have had. Rylen’s gaze fell on the small nervous movement of Barris’ fingers around his mug. The lad was still unsure of his place in all of this, had often kept to himself, but would nail them now and again with one-liners that could leave them laughing until their lungs ached. Barris was glad to add insight on things he knew about: combat tactics, Templar formations, the damn _Chant_ , but he was as raw as they came. Rylen knew well enough about how sheltered the Order’s life could be. He considered himself lucky, surrendering himself over after living his life for fifteen years, but Barris had joined up early on at the urging of his noble family. Some shit about legacies. The lad was sheltered certainly, and judging from the way he handled his own love life, Rylen wasn’t very confident Barris would be much help. But as Rylen watched the thoughtful crease between his friend’s eyes, he knew he was about to receive something utterly useless anyway.

“Looks like you’ve got an idea, Barris,” Rylen mumbled, taking a long drink from his ale.

He sighed, fidgeting. “I…well…the Inquisitor is still a girl, right? They like nice things, don’t they? Maybe…maybe just…send her flowers?”

Rylen was glad Cullen snorted so he didn’t have to. “You can _not_ be serious, Derlin.”

“I _could_ send her flowers, sure. If I wanted them _shoved_ down my throat.”

“Somehow, I don’t see the Inquisitor falling over herself for romantic gestures like that,” Cullen agreed.

Rylen glanced over at Barris' blushing face and was seized with a nasty thought that he couldn't ignore. "Here's an idea. Why don't _you_ send flowers to that lady, Lysette that you're always following around, hmm?"

Barris spluttered incoherently and all their gazes shifted to the table across the room where Skyhold’s Templars were the ones matching themselves against the Chargers tonight. The lady in question, one Lysette was emphatically cheering on her compatriots as they tried to drink Krem, Rocky, and Grim under the table.

"You-you said you wouldn't mention—"

"If any of us needs advice on their love life, it’s _you_ _!_ Or has the stuttering and reciting of the Chant whenever she’s around been working for you since the last we spoke?"

"Ah, come Rylen, have a heart!" Chevin bemoaned. He leaned across the table to lay reassuring pats on Barris' arm, barely containing his own shaking laughter. "We can't all be bold enough to climb right into a lady's bed!"

"For all the good it has done him," Cullen reminded them with a smug chortle. After some consideration, he added, “Not flowers, but a fight, maybe? How about it, Rylen? Care to test your mettle against her in the ring?”

“After the display earlier? Andraste’s pale ass, no!”

“True enough. If you cannot string a sentence together in front of her, how could you ever hope of fighting her? You would succeed only in embarrassing yourself.”

Rylen rolled his eyes and turned to the last man.  “And you, Chevin? Care to add more shit recommendations to these sorry sods?”

Chevin rested his chin in his hand and raised his eyes, the smirk spreading slowly over his face. “On the contrary, I may have something useful to you, my friend.”

* * *

 

By the time Rylen found himself in the biting night air, his mind was reeling. It had taken him ages before he had finally managed to wrestle himself away from the bastard Chevin, and not a moment too soon.  The man had been trying to rally another drunken chorus of Sera Was Never, and that fucking song had _already_ lodged itself too damn deep into Rylen’s brain.

He hummed the annoyingly jaunty tune as he ambled his way to the barracks of Skyhold. He was pleasantly warm and tingly with drink now and the cold barely affected him. Rylen took to admiring the shadows, the towering walls of the castle, the moons, anything to keep his mind from picking apart the conversation from earlier.

As he listened to Chevin’s scheme, Rylen had believed the man to be joking. He had to be out of his fucking mind. There was no way in the Maker’s kingdom it would be that fucking easy. Rylen had nearly dismissed it outright. For one thing, it was a stupid plan. For others, it was much too simple, depended on too many other fucking variables and was _more_ than a little flat-out selfish. What Rylen had been hoping for was some secret insight into the Qunari mind. What he had received instead was a plan he was certain the Inquisitor would never fall for. He’d fucking kiss Corypheus— _with tongue!_ —before Inquisitor Keram Adaar would fall for that pile of Varghest shit.

Though what else did he have really?

His best bet for dealing with this shit was to wait around and hope it went away. Now that Rylen thought of it, that was a pretty damn good bet. He could always just remove himself to an even further piece of ass than the Western Approach and rot in a cave somewhere, praying for deliverance from the tempting mage. Maybe she was a demon herself! That would explain a _lot_ of things, come to think of it… The fucking beauty, the ornamented horns, the agonizingly curvaceous hips, the Maker damned temptation… _That was it, Rylen_ , he thought to himself with a giggle. _You went and fell for a Desire Demon after all, you sod_.

Oh, that would be an easy fix, then, wouldn’t it? Desire Demons could be killed. He could free himself from her clutches, if _that_ were the case. But the truth? The truth was…he felt completely fucking powerless. It hadn’t seemed to matter that it was never meant to be more than a night. It hadn’t mattered at all that he was far away from her. And it certainly didn’t matter that she was a fruit forbidden to him by his vows. None of that mattered. Nothing fucking mattered! He was powerless to stop the thoughts, the yearning, the fucking aching for that blighted woman that plagued his senses with feelings he tried and failed to suppress. There was the burning desire, the fleeting giddiness, the stabs of jealousy that cut deeper than any knife Rylen had known. How was it that he could do nothing against the onslaught? Was he simply doomed to fall to the last foe he expected?

Rylen halted, leaning his blazing forehead against a cold stone wall and let out a long groan.

He had to see her tomorrow morning, to cap it all off. He had to speak to her as if he hadn’t thought of her all day. He would be forced to watch her talk about strategic troop movement as if he had never seen those gorgeous full lips sliding around his cock. Rylen gritted his teeth and tried to force the fucking image away. If it came to him so easily now, it would only be worse come the morning once he actually had to see her. Maker take him. Was it too much to pray that his throat would be cut during the night?

“I take it I missed all the fun then?” remarked an amused voice from behind him.

With a shout, Rylen spun and reached for his sword, but the world spun too fast for his buzzed brain to keep up. He stumbled and just barely caught himself on the wall. His unfocussed eyes found his would-be assailant and he blanched.

Keram—Maker shit, it was Keram—laughed, which did nothing for his light head. The liquor churned hot inside him, or was that the butterflies? Fuck! For the life of him, he couldn’t distinguish which, but… _fuck_ , Keram had caught him, and he honestly couldn’t decide if that was a remarkable stroke of good luck or the worst misfortune in Thedas.

“Is the stumbling a yes?” she teased lowly. “I wish Josephine had picked a different night to teach me how to take tea, I would have liked to have joined you.” Her gorgeous emerald eyes roved over him slowly. Rylen told himself the sudden heat he felt was bad whiskey. He was warm and… _something_ _else_. Rylen found himself lost taking in every sharp contour of her face. He didn’t give a shit about propriety as his eyes started wandering lower and lower… He drew a long, ragged breath. When his gaze met hers again, she was smirking in that enticing way that had first led him down the corridor after her glorious ass.

He wet his lips and wondered if he should even try to pretend he hadn’t been ogling her. “I was just thinking, Inquisitor, that, if you like, we can see about switching places next time. I’ll wear the frilly dress and talk about doilies and eat biscuits while you go drink with the Chargers. You don’t think anyone would notice, do you?”

Then Keram’s face split into the first wide grin he’d ever seen from her, the vison shooting pleasant warmth through his body. And just when he thought that was the end of it, her following wild laugh could have stopped his heart.

“Now _that_ would be a sight,” she giggled, drawing nearer to him. With each step, his heart picked up pace so that he was sure the woman could see it jumping. “So tell me, Captain, what are you doing _here?”_

Rylen’s brow knit in confusion and he glanced around himself. He had stopped to control his vivid images just short of the barracks door. Had he been _that_ close to missing Keram entirely on her way to the tavern? Shit. “I was _going_ to go to bed, lass. _I_ don’t have the option of using _magic_ to stay this pretty, you know.” Another peal of laughter escaped her and lifted the miserable spirits that had dogged him all day. That fucking smile. That damn laugh. He couldn’t ask for anything better to salvage this disaster of an evening.

“No, Captain,” Keram chuckled. “I mean at the soldier’s barracks. Shouldn’t you have your own room?”

Rylen shrugged. “Cullen said you were full up. Something about too many nobles.”

“Someone should have told me.” Keram frowned and shook her head. “I could have thrown one of those pompous fools outside in order to make room for you.”

This time, it was Rylen’s turn to laugh. “Ah, lass? Perhaps that is why they didn’t tell you.” He watched her arch an eyebrow at him, and his smile dropped a little. He started wondering if she really _would_ have thrown some codger out on their fat ass just to make room for him. By the look on her face, Rylen wouldn’t have put it past her. Might’ve throttled them too if the urge seized her.

She drew still closer, her eyes dancing in the low light. “Although…” she simpered as she came close. Close enough that he smelled the Ambassador’s overwhelming perfume that reeked in her office, but he could also pick out the dusky sweetness that he knew to be Keram from the lingering tastes he had taken of her. Maker, that seemed like a fucking lifetime ago now. Rylen had to dig his fists into his thighs to keep from grabbing the woman and kissing her. “This does present an _interesting_ prospect.”

The way her eyes glinted in the darkness, he had to bite. “And what’s that?”

Keram traced a fingernail from the edge of Rylen’s jaw to under his chin and he shuddered. “Don’t stay down here. Stay with me, Rylen.”

Her second upfront offer caught him hard in the chest and forced all the air from his lungs. This blighted woman couldn’t have been serious! He had spent all fucking day agonizing over what he could possibly say to her after their encounter and then all she had to do was crook her little finger at him. Did she believe he would come running again like a dog bounding to its master? The thought…irked him. It sparked a rebelliousness in the back of his drink-laden head. Why wouldn’t she believe he would come? He had already proven to her that his morals were loose at best. Every fucking one of them. He had proven that nothing at all was sacred to him; not even his religion or his vows. He had come to her once. So why not again? And again. And again? She…she _was_ just using him, he was suddenly sure. She had to be. His realization grated against him and he was… _offended_ by her. That she could just fucking leave him in that sodding desert with nothing to fucking acknowledge him, then have the audacity to _fucking_ _beckon_ _again_.

And what of himself? What of these…feelings? Even if he admitted that he had _no_ shred of dignity in his sorry ass, the fact of the matter was (try as he might to pretend otherwise) that he didn’t want these casual encounters with the Inquisitor. He was drunk enough that he could concede that to himself. Tomorrow, he would repress it again, but tonight… Tonight, with the way his heart hammered and his body burned and his tongue tied... He might have made downright piss-poor decisions sometimes— _most times_ —and maybe he was about to make _the worst_ one yet, but…he _couldn’t_. He just…he couldn’t put himself through the torture. Rylen’s over active brain had already inflicted so much after one night. If he submitted himself again… He couldn’t accept. Not this time. He fucking _couldn’t_.

“Inquisitor, I… I appreciate the offer but…no. I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” Rylen bit his tongue hard enough that his vison swam. _Stupid_. He was stupid, but the words couldn’t be taken back any more than he could take back their night together.

Keram’s face had become unreadable as per her usual, but her head tilted a little to the side as she regarded him silently. Rylen had to make a conscious effort not to fidget under her scrutiny.

“As you wish,” she said slowly. “Though if you change your mind, I’ll be waiting for you. You know where to find me.”

He watched her turn to go, his heart sinking heavily right to his toes. Rylen took a shaky breath and cursed himself for being an idiot. _You could have had her, Rylen. You could have had her again, you damn fool. But instead you went and fucked it up._ And then her words pierced through his thoughts like breaking water. “I—Keram?”

She paused and looked over her shoulder quizzically.

“You said…you’d be waiting for me. _Just_ me?” Rylen couldn’t help but think back to Bull groping her in the ring. How many other times had the Qunari done that to her that he _hadn’t_ seen? There _had_ to be more. Keram had to have taken other lovers from around Skyhold. Rylen wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was _just_ him. But, Maker help him if it was. He held his breath, hardly daring for it to be true.

“Of course.”

Rylen watched in astonishment as her lips pulled into their secret smile, the private one that he was starting to think was just for him, and she was gone.

* * *

 

_You’re a fucking idiot, and indecisive to boot_ , Rylen sneered at himself as he nodded brusquely to the guards stationed at the entrance to the grand hall of Skyhold. _You have no respect for yourself, it shows, and she’s going to scorn you for it._

There were no braziers lit any longer and the dark shadows from the tall iron-work windows stretched across the stone floors like a spider web. All the better. If only they could catch him and stop him from making yet another mistake to add on his long fucking list of mistakes. His way, however, was unhindered as he walked briskly across the long hall and he found himself wavering indecisively before the door to the Inquisitor’s chambers.

Should he knock? It had to be too late for that. Should he just let himself in? She _had_ said she would be waiting for him, but what if she was asleep? He didn’t want to catch her by surprise and end up dangling by his foot over the side of her balcony. No, what he _should_ do is march right back to the barracks, throw himself onto one of those uncomfortable cots and pray he met a quick and painless death before the morning could find him face-to-face with the Inquisitor. Rylen made a face as he imagined the heavy awkwardness his rejection would fill the War Room with tomorrow. Perhaps it would be better to leave now? Grab his horse and make for the Approach as if his ass were on fire. _Too late for that. You’ve come this far. Why not just make a complete ass of yourself? You were doing such a bang-up job of it already, Rylen, I’d hate for you to lose your stride now._

Fuck it. _Fuck it!_

Rylen pushed the door open and closed it behind him as quietly as he could. The ascent up the stairs was a losing battle against the tides of nerves and the urge to run. He tried over and over again to think of something witty to say, some kind of an excuse for being a shit, but he was coming up dry.

As Rylen neared the final landing, the one that meant he could no longer run back to his cot, his ears caught the soft utterance of his name. He paused, inclining his head to listen. This was technically eavesdropping, wasn’t it? This would get him in worse trouble if he was caught, but the curiosity got the better of him.

Yes, there it was again. His name whispered, soft but heady. The syllables wrapped in a pant that made his breeches feel tight. Rylen scaled the last of the steps quickly.

He found Keram just the way he had begun to hope. Her large naked body was splayed across the covers, flushed and swollen from her own attentions. Rylen hungrily devoured every curve with his eyes, and licked his lips with the need to taste her again. _All of her_. He would leave nothing this time. His cock throbbed insistently.

Keram’s eyes fluttered open and danced in the candlelight. She graced him with her small smile and he could have moaned at the sight.

“You came,” she purred, pulling her fingers from her hot slit and trailing them up her torso. Rylen drew a hiss through his teeth as he watched the slide of her fingers wet with her own desire leave glistening tracks over her skin.

Fool or not, he had certainly made the right fucking decision in the end.

“Not yet,” he murmured lowly, feeling his own grin tug at his face. “I’m eager, but I’m not fast, remember, lass?” Rylen moved closer, his hand already outstretched to caress her spread thigh. His mind running through all the sins he wanted from her _this_ time. The moment he felt her hot flesh beneath his fingers, Rylen groaned. His hand slid across her skin, smooth and strong, and found his way to her _very_ wet cunt—fucking Andraste preserve him!

Keram hummed and arched at the slide of his teasing fingers around her clit. “I should _hope_ so. I need more of you, Rylen. I expect you to _give_ it to me.”

He laughed breathlessly, shuddering at her easy command. “Yes, Inquisitor. I am glad to be of service.”

Rylen caught her lips in a searing kiss and drank her moan from them as his fingers glided over her swollen slit. Keram pressed herself closer to him, her tongue coaxing, drawing him deeper into a fervent rhythm that made his head spin. It was her kiss that captured him, the kind that set his body alight with a deep fire that he had an inkling could never be put out. He was _done for_ ; he could have sworn that to anybody. This woman would take him.

And there was nothing he could do about it.


	3. He Was Brash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinforcements arrive in the Approach so Rylen can finally knock some heads together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this for a while, I know, but I HAD to get it right. Forgive me.
> 
> And I know it's a little long but I couldn't find it in my heart to break it up. The next few chapters will be short, I promise.
> 
> I also just wanted to add the disclaimer (don't know if it's necessary) that the Chant of Light does not belong to me.
> 
> Okay, that takes care of that. Enjoy!

“Captain!” cried a scout from somewhere in the distance. Rylen looked up from the map of the Approach to listen through the tarp of his operations tent. “The Chevalier and his troops are approaching.”

“About damn bloody time,” Rylen muttered darkly, shoving himself off the desk. The movement sent a few reports fluttering to the floor but instead of picking them up, he kicked them away in irritation. He was in one of those dark moods where everything was pissing him off. Where just the sight of all the reports and maps spread out on every available space made him want to crawl under a rock and stay there.

It didn’t help that was _exactly_ what he and his troops were bloody doing.

Upon his return to the Griffons Wing Keep, Rylen was swarmed with reports— _none_ of them pleasant—about what had happened while he was away. Barely more than a week, and it was like the desert had gone to total shit and a fucking Blight was threatening to swallow the world. That would just be bloody perfect.

It had been all he could do to attempt to restore some fucking order without incurring any heavy casualties. In the end, he had to call everything in—every outpost, every patrol, every camp—and twiddle his thumbs instead. At the War Council he had the foresight to ask for reinforcements. Lucky, that. Waiting was agonizing with the desert swarming up around them. Rylen had to hope all the beasts didn't get too hungry before their help arrived.

Then bad news turned to _worse_ news. After receiving a missive about a High Dragon sniffing around the outskirts, Rylen had no choice but to send an urgent message to Cullen asking for _more_ aid. As if the bloody dragon wasn’t enough, he’d even heard there was some idiot who was batty enough to want to poke it in the eye. Neither the dragon nor the moron that antagonized her meant good news for their crumbling outpost in the Approach. Although he hated to write again so soon—he felt like a child with his hand outstretched—the necessity made them all do things he didn't like. He had to write for still more soldiers (or a bleeding _miracle_ if they could find one lying around) and the soldiers had to let the Venatori do whatever they pleased for a while.

Luckily, no one else in their _right_ _minds_ was stupid enough to try and live in the Approach. There were no civilians to protect. That, at least, was a meager comfort to Rylen.

He shoved the tent flaps aside and let himself back out into the oppressive heat that had also rolled in while he was away. _A heat wave_ , a melting lieutenant had told him. If Rylen had thought he'd felt the worst before, it was nothing compared to a fucking heat wave in this shit hole.

Stomping away from the tent that served as his shitty office, what slight lift in his spirits he had felt about the arrival of additional troops evaporated in the sun. Everyone parted for him as he stamped through the keep to meet Chevin at the doors. He was sure he wore a scowl that was about as pleasant as this fucking desert. _Good_.

They greeted each other as Chevin handed his reigns to the waiting stable boy. Rylen felt a smug smile tug at his face as he watched the Chevalier lift his helmet from his head and saw his straw colored hair already in sweaty disarray.

“Maker’s balls, Rylen!” Chevin moaned as they shook hands. "I never took your complaints to heart, but _this_...the heat is torture!"

“Tell me about it,” Rylen grunted, unamused.

Chevin motioned for his men to tend their horses before following Rylen back through the keep, all seriousness again.

“Now about those Venatori…”

“Barris had said the outfit we so unceremoniously cut down was only a small party of a larger squadron that’s holed up in some dusty ruins, the whereabouts of which, my men still have not been able to pinpoint. We had tried to trace their trail at first; that is until all the local wildlife noticed there was a feast for the taking here at Griffon’s Wing. It’s been tricky to get out since. As you can imagine, our food and water supplies are starting running low.” Rylen heaved a long sigh. “It seems that ever since the Wardens were chased off, the list of ravenous creatures grows each day. Not the ones that are the least concerning being Varghests, Phoenixes, and a Dragon—”

_“A dragon!?”_

“—yes. Welcome to the Western Approach, Chevin.”

Upon reaching Rylen’s tent, they ducked into the questionable respite of the shade. He motioned Chevin forward to the map on his desk.

“I had planned for you to escort the scouting parties as they pick up the Venatori. But since the _sand_ is coming alive now, I’ve asked Commander Cullen for more soldiers—”

“Are you expecting things to get worse?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, they already _are_ worse. What I’m waiting for is a disaster.”

Chevin shifted from foot to foot. “Surely you are just being pessimistic.” Rylen noticed his usual casual stance was stiffer, his hand holding a little tighter to his sword. “It’s as if we do not have enough problems already.”

“We’ll be fine. Once we get the hyenas out of our hair,” he grunted. Rylen didn’t like how restless the other man became. It would be all he needed for the Chevalier to try and pull some glowing heroics. “Something on your mind?”

He shrugged. “Personal trifles, my friend, nothing I cannot handle.” When the man met Rylen’s searching gaze, a grim smile had replaced the unease. “When we report back, it shall only be good news. Of that, you can be assured. Now, show me that dragon.”

Rylen shook away the desire to press further— _let the ass keep it to himself then_ —and turned back to the map. “The beast seems to stay over here, in this area, however, the Maker seems to take particular delight in making me squirm. Some sod in a camp around there somewhere is trying to get us to help him study the infernal thing. Says the Inquisition could use the research. I think it’s a load of shit, personally. If he wanted to get his own ass singed then fine—be my bloody guest—but I’m not about to send good soldiers to be a dragon’s supper.

“The Venatori party we intercepted was here. None were left alive. My fault, that. I’ll take complete blame. I led that operation and I was…out of sorts that day. I wasn’t thinking clearly and now we have no idea where they were even headed. We tried to pin their trail down and were chased off by a pack of Phoenixes. That will be where you come in. Two of my men were injured in that fight. One dead.” Rylen’s face darkened. Of all the things in the Maker’s world, wanton casualties were what he detested the most. It made life in the Circle unbearable at times, and it made the relief efforts in Kirkwall a personal crusade. “Doesn’t take much to be poisoned, and once it’s there, you’re a goner. It’s just a matter of time before the two survivors to go to the Maker’s side too…”

“My condolences.” Chevin reached over and squeezed Rylen’s shoulder. Any other day, he might have shrugged him off. “You are not to blame, though I know that will not matter to you much. We can take your desert back, at least. I recall you mentioning rifts when you were in Skyhold?”

Thankful for the subject change, Rylen nodded. “A few. And mighty odd ones, at that. I’ve ordered my outposts to retreat, they kept a keen eye on them. Not so many demons, but some survivors say they are not unlike the ones they saw in Redcliffe before the Venatori took over.”

“Redcliffe? What is so different about these rifts?”

“Got me,” Rylen said with a shrug. “I’m no expert.”

The other man shook his head as his eyes darted over the markers on the map. Rylen waited patiently for the grasp of their dire situation to set in on him. A shout, a moan, fainting, _anything_ would have made more sense than the spark of amusement that jumped into his eyes. Chevin beamed like a schoolboy.

“What?” Rylen demanded. There were a lot of reactions he had expected after informing Chevin of the shitstorm he had just stepped into; his laughter was not among them.

“It’s just…there is _much_ to do, isn’t there? I do not know why you needed me to help you to get the Inquisitor out here. I would think you have plenty excuse to ask for her help!”

Rylen scowled at his friend and was only just able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I never fucking said I needed your help to get the Inquisitor here, _you did!_ And I don’t see how you can take all this so lightly! My _love_ _life_ is no concern right now, not when faced with all _this_ shit.”

“Au contraire, my friend. _I_ think this is a perfect opportunity.”

“No. Keram has better things to do! I’m not about to beg her on my knees to come save me from this fucking desert,” he snarled. “ _I_ am the captain here, and I _am_ capable of seeing to this myself! As soon as the reinforcements arrive, we can further our plans to cut back the fucking wildlife, slay the Maker-damned dragon, and smoke out all those Venatori fucks—”

“Will you court her with a severed dragon’s head?”

Rylen choked on his words and regarded Chevin incredulously. He swallowed his biting remark and allowed himself to think about it for a moment. “You know, Chevin…for once…” He found himself smirking in spite of himself. “That’s not a half-bad idea…”

“I heard they _like_ that sort of thing,” Chevin chuckled. “Just be sure your hair does not catch fire. It would ruin your roguish looks.”

Rylen barked a short laugh. “Oh, shut up.”

“Captain!”

They both turned as a nervous scout pushed her way through the tent flaps.

“Report,” Rylen growled, moving around his desk to square up to the lass.

“I…uh…it-it’s…at the gate…”

Exchanging a quick dubious glance, Rylen and Chevin pushed past her and went back into the Maker forsaken heat.

“Your scouts usually so nervous?” Chevin asked him, arching an eyebrow.

“No. I wonder what’s got them spooked…” Whatever it was, Rylen was certain he wouldn’t like it. It could only be another thing on his list of absolute shit he would have to slog though. As they approached the gates, Rylen was just starting to wonder if the Maker had it out for him.

He met the beautiful green eyes that had started to haunt his dreams and had invaded his every waking thought when she was away.

“Captain,” Keram greeted as she handed her horse off to a trembling scout. Something like a smirk played across her face. “I heard you could use a hand out here.”

* * *

 

It took less bloody time to bring Keram— _no, the Inquisitor_ —up to speed on the Approach than it took to gear up an outfit of soldiers to brave the sands. Rylen oversaw them restlessly, barking at them when they started shuffling too slowly for his liking. With nothing more to scowl at, he took to watching Keram— _no, the Inquisitor, damnit_ —out of the corner of his eye. She had the Iron Bull with her, again, (and Rylen _tried_ not to be too offended by the Qunari’s presence given her clear preference for _him_ , but fucking Andraste if he wasn’t getting incensed by watching the man touch her too affectionately) as well as the Seeker and that dwarf, Varric. They whispered together, idling as they waited for Rylen’s soldiers. Which made him want to rage at the sods _more_ for keeping Keram—the _Inquisitor!_ —waiting.

Damn embarrassing was what it was. _Remember to drill these fucks on preparedness in the middle of the fucking night_ , Rylen thought irritably, scuffing at the dirt with his boot. He’d feel a whole lot better about everything if _the Inquisitor_ had never mentioned how she looked forward to watching him _perform_. Her words wouldn’t have meant so much to him, if there hadn’t been that damn gleam in her eyes that drove him fucking wild. There was a double meaning to it, he was sure. It was so glaringly obvious that Chevin had snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. As she left the tent, Chevin had pulled Rylen aside.

“Since the Inquisitor has arrived, you will not mind if we exchange places? Why don’t you escort their party instead, Captain? I would be more than happy to stay in this shady spot and hold down the fort while you go and fight with our illustrious leader.” With a dramatic sigh he added, “We all must make sacrifices sometimes.”

“I…yes, but shove off!” Rylen had spluttered, unable to fully keep the smile from his face.

Rylen might have been excited at the prospect at first, but the more he thought about it, the less sure he became. The Inquisitor’s every word became a puzzle and Rylen was piss poor at them. He was getting more than a little tired of guessing at her advances.

The woman would probably let him guess all day long, too. He felt like he could guess until he turned blue in the face and he would still have no idea of what the fuck she wanted from him. What he needed to do was grow a fucking pair and _ask_. That is what he needed to do.

He glanced back over at her little band and roved over her for the…fuck, Maker only knew how many times it was now. If the Qunari didn’t like what he said, she could rip him in half faster than he could raise his sword. If she didn’t want the same thing he did, he…he didn’t know what he would do. More than likely, he would keep giving to her because he wouldn’t be able to fucking help himself. And when she was done with him, perhaps he’d go and climb into the dragon’s jaws and hope it doesn’t chew.

_You’re a fool, Rylen. A Maker damned idiot._ He was frustrated with himself for allowing himself to get this far into this… _whatever this was_. He was far too invested and he _knew_ it. From slinking back for another sodding fix, to allowing her swaying hips and gemstone eyes to occupy his thoughts. All because of a simple encounter he had let spiral out of control. There were _rules_ for these fucking things and he had broken all of them. And now he even dared to consider throwing them out entirely. Fuck it then. Fuck all the rules of casual sex. _But what are you going to do then, Rylen, hmm? What?_

_Lass, would you like to go for dinner sometime?_

In a desert? No that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

_Keram, I don’t know what this is, or what you meant it to be, but I’ve got to tell you before I go mad: I can’t stop thinking about you, lass, and if we could just—_

No. Rubbish.

_I’m terrified of you, but I’d like for you to continue fucking me senseless. Just me, mind. Also, if you could fire that mercenary, I would greatly appreciate it._

His lips twitched into a wry smile. If only, right?

A fully armed and ready lieutenant stepped up to Rylen and drove his attempts at mentally seducing the Inquisitor away. “Ser, we are ready to depart,” she said with a salute.

“About bloody time,” Rylen spat. “Ke-Inquisitor! My forces are ready to move out with yours!”

“Very good, Captain,” she replied with a nod. She and her companions joined Rylen at the gate and she surveyed his men critically. He felt himself bristle and stood ready to defend any accusation she had against his men. Until he caught sight of that teasing gleam. “Can you keep up?”

Rylen smirked. “Are demons falling from the sky?”

“Not for long…” A nasty sort of grin spread over her face and Rylen arched an eyebrow at her. Not that he would ever say so, but it was startlingly attractive in its own devilish way.

Fuck...he...he _was_ too far gone, wasn’t he? Maker take his bloody soul.

* * *

 

The wildlife was waiting for them as soon as they stepped out of the keep.

They were overrun by enough skulking Hyenas that all Rylen could see were flashes of barred teeth and brown spotted fur. Thank the bloody Maker they had the Inquisitor though. The pack that had gathered on their doorstep might have made short work of any regular parties that tried to leave, but the added advantage of having a mage was proving more useful than he could have guessed.

Her magic was just as ferocious as her grappling had been. The Inquisitor set fire to the very ground around the soldiers’ feet, scattering the Hyenas before they could properly regroup for an attack and when they were far enough away, tendrils of the Fade wrapped around their legs and dragged them to the ground. Rylen could feel the pull of the rift magic at the edges of his lyrium under his skin, and it made his stomach churn uncomfortably. But there was no arguing with the results. Defenseless, the Hyenas became short work for the soldiers, and no one was lost. Not even bitten.

In the end, the method didn’t matter, the results were alright in his book.

Rylen yanked his blade from one of the shaggy beasts. _Maker take you, and your creepy laughter_ , he thought, trying to shake the eerie sound away until he was distracted by a lovelier one.

“Not bad, Captain,” Keram hummed, drawing level with him. She looked over the brown bodies littering the ground and chuckled. “I got four. You?”

Rylen blinked, dumbstruck. Was she…flirting? Over Hyena corpses? _Go with it, you idiot_. “Not to brag, your Worship, but I counted _seven_ for myself.”

She arched an eyebrow and smiled, and Rylen felt his heart beat faster. She _were_ , wasn’t she? Qunari were the strangest things. “I’m _almost_ impressed.”

Shaking his head, Rylen considered keeping his response to himself, but it would have been a crime. “You’re hard to please, Inquisitor. But I _knew_ that already.” He winked.

Her trill of giggles made Rylen grin.

“Hey, Boss!” Rylen could have punched that Hassarath fuck in the face. “You were looking for a rift, right? Well, you got one!”

Their gazes followed the Iron Bull’s finger and Rylen groaned. A rift spluttered to life, crackles of green energy reaching out to the ground, clawing like fingers. He hefted his shield again and made to rally his troops forward.

“Captain!” rang the panicked cry of a soldier. “Varghests coming up the slope!”

He whirled and watched the slinking beasts lumber over the sand. These creatures were thin and bony, their overlapping scales dull, paws dragging through the dunes. But as soon as they caught the scent of human, sniffing tentatively with flat noses, their ears perked. That was bloody perfect, wasn’t it? Rylen could have done without more stinking desert creatures. The pair changed course and headed for the party, saliva dripping from gaping jaws. These fuckers were hungry, and Rylen’s solders were ripe for gutting.

A roar behind him made him turn. Two tall, spindly Terror demons stretched from the rift, twisted horns protruding from all over their stretched grey skin. With another crackle, another massive demon joined them. It rose from a fiery vortex in the earth, roaring to life in a burst of flame, mottled grey and black and red. The Rage Demon left a scorched trail behind it as it drifted, the sand grains glittering in the sun as it turned to glass. Then more kept spewing forth—where did it end? Half glimpsed shapeless spirits that shimmered as they moved, ghosting in a world that was not their own. They would have to be banished back, and Rylen’s blood sang with the desire to be the one to do it.

But he had other duties out here, like keeping his soldiers alive, and the Inquisitor safe. They took precedence over his fifteen years of training. As if it was nothing but second nature to him, Rylen’s mind raced at a hundred paces a minute, calculating their odds.

“Inquisitor, rifts are your business. We’ll keep the Varghests off you. Go!”

Without waiting for Keram’s response, Rylen raised his sword and turned away. Running forward, his shield in hand, he led his men  _towards_ the things that wanted to eat them. He shouted to draw their attention further, and he was unlucky enough that it was working. Without the Inquisitor behind them burning the beast’s feet to keep them away, he knew shields would be the only things between them and snapping jaws. Time to see if all his drilling was worth a damn.

“Raise your shields!” he snapped at his men. The handful he’d chosen to accompany him were no raw recruits, but the sight of two stalking Varghests had them nervous. Not that Rylen could blame them, the bat snouted creatures looked like bloody demons well enough, the likes of which only resided in the Fade. And if they weren’t careful, the creatures would just as soon drag them there. Behind him, Rylen heard the rustle and clank of plate. He didn’t dare confirm with his eyes; to look away from the spitting creatures before him would surely mean his end—and he was just beginning to bloody  _like_ living again. “ _On me_.”

The soldiers fanned out behind him, forming a barrier between the bristling creatures and the Inquisitor’s party and then advanced on the animals. Rylen chanced one last glance over his shoulder at Keram.  _No more surprises;_  she had made it to the rift and engaged the true demons. The fierce warrior mage would be fine—at least that’s what he hoped. The lyrium singing in his veins made him want to join the  _real_ blighted fight, but with any luck, he could lend his aid soon enough. Varghests would just have to do for the time being. Rylen nodded curtly to himself before snarling his own challenge at the two hissing beasts.

They snapped their maws menacingly at the line of shields glinting in the sunlight. They paced back and forth around each other, twisting and winding together, drawing ever closer, calculating the worth of attacking steel-clad men.  _Come on, you fucks. I know you’re hungry. I’ve got something you can taste_ , Rylen thought with a sneer, eyeing one animal that was more restless than the other.  _You can’t resist, we both fucking know it._  Finally, the restless one let out a low pitched whine and darted forward. Rylen braced his feet in the sand and waited. The animal connected hard against his defense and, grunting from the effort, he forced the creature back with the solid crunch of metal connecting with its skull.

“Flank it,” he ordered through gritted teeth, steadying himself as the Varghest recovered its feet. It kept searching for a weakness in Rylen’s defense, darting forward and back, but he met each attack with his shield. Battle coursed through his blood, his feet kicking up sand as he whirled and danced with the creature like they were old, familiar partners.

A surprised shout made him glance away from his opponent for a moment. He saw the other Varghest steadily picking through his soldiers’ defenses, batting away their shields with its claws and nipping at their feet to force them off balance. They wouldn’t last long if they kept giving it leeway. He scowled.  _Fucking blighters. They were going to be killed if they didn’t get their shit together._  “Watch that other one! Two shields in front, keep the mouth occupied. Two in back, and cut it  _down_!”

In hindsight, maybe he complained a bit too much about how lazy his troops were day to day. For no sooner had his orders left his mouth, than his soldiers’ snapped to. Satisfied he wasn’t going to lose an idiot to another one of these fuckers, he smiled nastily at his own Varghest and challenged it with a vicious snarl. He glimpsed two of his men over the top of his shield, edging around Rylen to the creature’s unprotected hindquarters. He bellowed at the Varghest to keep it from realizing it was getting flanked and bashed it hard on the nose with the pommel of his sword.  _Come on, fucker! Eyes on me. I’m the only one that matters here!_  The creature hissed angrily, shaking the blow away before it sprung forward again. Rylen batted its attack aside with his shield and followed it with a swipe of his blade that glanced uselessly off its overlapping scales. The enraged animal twisted and snapped at his arm too late; he ducked back behind his guard. It was a dance—a precarious one—that relied heavily on the prowess of his men. But Rylen had  _no_  reservations about their ability.

“Any time now!” Rylen spat irritably. His arm buckled under the force of the Varghest pawing at the metal in frustration. Suddenly, the animal leapt off him, howling in pain.

He took the brief moment of respite to glance back towards the rift. Keram was fighting off a demon who had the misfortune of drawing too close to her. She wielded the blade of her staff as well as any sword, slicing hard before shooting the spirit form full of lightning. She didn’t seem any worse for wear, just a vicious and indomitable force. Rylen only had a moment to appreciate how fucking  _spectacular_  she was. Then he spotted it: a hulking Rage demon cast off the Seeker's attacks and sent her flat to the ground with a fiery bellow before it started sliding straight for Keram.

“Captain!”

His warning shout lodged itself in Rylen’s throat as the Varghest’s front claws caught on the edge of his shield and ripped it away from his grasp. The men sticking the creatures flank cried out to him. Rylen watched the beast spring forward, baring its razor sharp teeth in an ugly, hissing snarl. Long claws scraped against his breastplate. Rylen lost his footing. He raised his arm just as it collided and threw him to the ground. The wind knocked out of him as the beast landed heavily on his chest. White hot lances of pain shot through his body, serrated edges sinking through his mail. Rylen cried out as the beast savagely shook its head, his arm feeling like it was going to be ripped from its socket with every lurch.

“Get this fucking blighter  _OFF ME!”_

His men scrambled into action, whaling on the Varghest with their swords. It shrieked like mad, but refused to relinquish Rylen’s arm. Blind with the pain that burned inside him, Rylen’s other hand balled into a fist. Snarling like an animal, Rylen smashed it into the fucker’s nose, but instead of relinquishing him, it clamped harder and shook its great head again. He cried out in pain as it bit deeper and prayed it wouldn’t take his fucking arm.

Out of nowhere, a barrage of magic imbued rocks finally knocked the Varghest’s grip loose. Before it could realize what happened, Rylen kicked it hard, sending it toppling over onto its back. His soldiers used its vulnerable belly to their advantage. Rylen rolled and glimpsed Keram, hand outstretched towards him, her snarl in place, before her attention was yanked back to the rift. A small exhausted smile stretched over his lips. _Thanks, Qunari, but you really should be paying attention to_ — The ground below Keram’s feet bubbled and oozed with thick blackness but she was too busy raising a wall of fire between a stunned Iron Bull and his demon attacker. Rylen saw the great, horned Terror Demon on the other side of the rift summoning the blackness to catch Keram off guard.

And she had no fucking _idea_.

Rylen grabbed his gear, sprung to his feet and sprinted towards her. He tugged his shield back in place despite the agonizing protests of his mauled arm and ducked himself low as he raced. He barreled into her, knocking her away from the portal as the Terror demon sprung up out of the ground.

It threw its head back and split the air with its raspy, immobilizing shriek. _None of that!_ Rylen snarled, feeling the prickle of lyrium buzzing to life beneath his skin, combating the stunning effects of the demon’s cry. He dashed forward, swinging his sword upwards in a wide arc and hacked off one of its outstretched arms without even flinching. Thick black blood splattered the ground as the demon’s cry turned to outrage. Rylen neither knew nor cared if the bloody thing truly felt the sword’s sting, he lived for the rippling ebb of Fade twisted magic. Something about killing demons made his blood roar in his ears. He threw his body forward and pierced the emaciated stomach, wrenching his sword sideways in its gut.

“Rylen, down!”

Keram didn’t have to tell him twice.

He fell flat to his stomach as a deadly fireball roared over his head and consumed the flailing, screaming demon. _Maker!_ Rylen turned his face away from the blistering heat, and tried to ignore the sickening flip of his stomach as Keram’s powerful magic prickled at the edges of his lyrium infused skin.

“Keram, the Rage demon! If you got it, ice would be fantastic, lass,” Rylen shot at Keram as he sprung back to his feet.

She scowled. “This isn’t my first demon fight—”

Rylen didn’t wait to hear her complaints. He dashed away from her, shouting at the growling Rage demon. He pounded against his shield and drew the demon from where it loomed over Varric’s body. _Don’t be dead, dwarf!_ he thought madly _. Who’s going to tell everyone about this if you’re dead?_

“Seeker!” Rylen shouted. “Help Varric! I’ll take the demon.”

The great monster turned, glaring at the flurry of movement around it, fiery eyes blazing as it sought a new threat.

“Hey! _Here!_ I’m not scared of you, you great, oversized candle,” Rylen sneered at it. His skin pricked all over, immune against the flashes of destructive fire magic that rolled off the demon in waves. It slunk towards him, the sweltering heat becoming more and more unbearable as it drew closer. Sweat dripped down his neck and into his eyes. Rylen waited with baited breath. _Closer…Closer you blighted creature_ … Inside him, the lyrium began to hum loudly, singing in his ears. It was so closely intertwined with his body in the heat of battle that he couldn’t figure where _he_ ended and where _it_ began, but, Maker, it _came alive_ in the presence of his sworn enemy. When he was fulfilling his holy vows—his sole purpose for being—they were one in the same.

Rylen’s eyes closed for an instant. _‘I pity your folly, But still more do I pity those whose lives you have taken_ , _’_ he intoned the well-worn Chant to keep his focus. _Raw power_ coursed through him. He trembled with the pent energy of it, sheer force of will containing it just below his skin— _‘In pursuit of selfish goals’—_ it vibrated in his veins until— _there!_ He raised his sword to the sky, bellowing from its tumultuous concussive force. _‘No more will you bear the Light!’_

The very heavens split in a blinding flash. Rylen directed the holy energy with his blade and the demon was enveloped by the brilliant white beam of light. _‘To darkness flee!_ _And be gone from My sight!’_ It roared, ghostly and reverberating at it tore asunder from within. _I send you back to your Maker’s side, Demon,_ Rylen spat vehemently _. Let **Him** sort you out_. The creature split into a thousand shimmering fragments, the light dissipating with the corrupted spirit, nothing but the ethereal whine of its death. Rylen staggered back, the intense burning in his blood replaced with exhausted tingling as every cell danced with the spent lyrium magic.

Somewhere in the echoing recesses of Rylen’s exhausted mind, he heard the crackle of the rift coming to life. He sagged, panting. His shield felt heavy. The pounding ache that ran up his arm with each heartbeat returned full force. He was sluggish as he spun. _Phew! What…?_ His head reeled, the edges of his vision blurring and blending. _What the fuck?_

Keram held her arm in the air, teeth gritted, the Mark spluttering with green sparks. _Was this how she closed Rifts?_ Ghostly green illuminated her features in harsh light. Rylen couldn’t decide if he was fascinated by her or downright intimidated.

_Intimi…intimi-dated_. He chuckled. _Intimi-date me, Inquizitorr._

Rylen felt a splitting pain in his skull and his limbs grew three times as heavy. So much so that he swayed unsteadily. _What the-what the...fuck?_ Colors assaulted his vision in violent cacophony. The green of the rift making him sick, the blue of the sky making him dizzy, the sand swirling up around him, threatening to swallow him whole. The desert would keep him forever, body and soul, choked beneath the dunes. And suddenly he was terrified.

He tried to fight his senses with sluggish swipes of his weapons, reeling on unsteady feet.

“And your count now, Captain?” he heard Keram chuckle, though her deep voice sounded strange in his ears. Loud _and_ soft, and… _deafening!_

“Yelldon’, ‘Quizz.” His tongue was thick and heavy. _Wha’?_ Rylen’s head spun, tossing him as violently as the sea. “Lazz, I...uh…” His knees buckled and he just barely caught himself with a stumble.

“Captain?”

“Sit?” He collapsed forward into Keram’s open arms. If only his head wasn’t splitting and his vision wasn’t dancing with blinding flashes. Otherwise he would have been overjoyed to have found his face in her lovely tits again.

_“Rylen!”_

The Iron Bull drew near to them and Rylen looked up at the other man indignantly. How dare he try to encroach on this? _His_ time! He wanted to tell the bloody giant to _fuck off_ , this was _his_ woman. Wasn’t she? Maybe not. No, yes? He wanted to say so, he wanted to ask her but his lips felt thick and his tongue swollen in his throat.

“Dijyuu sniff—”

“Poison, Boss,” the Iron Bull snorted.

“Poison?” Keram looked down on Rylen dubiously. He met her searching gaze with a hopeful smile. Rylen wanted _so badly_ to tell her that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. Both of her! “Will he be all right?”

_Awh, wee lass is worried for me!_ Rylen giggled happily, delight settling comfortably in his stomach. He lay his head against her tits again and snuggled closer, grinning.

Bull laughed. “Poison from a Varghest? Nah. Big, tough, warrior like him? He’ll walk it off.”

“Tha’s righ’,” Rylen slurred. “I’m fiii.” He attempted to stand on his own but his feet were shaking like a newborn calf’s. It took all of his effort just to think about standing upright. _Whend he get so fuckin’ heavy?_ Fatigue taking him, he let himself sag back into Keram’s embrace. “I jus’ need rest. Here’s good…”

“Uhh, why don’t you take everyone onward, Bull. I’ll stay with the Captain until he’s well again.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Before he left, Bull patted Rylen heavily on his back. “Hang in there, Basvaarad.”

“Don’ touch, sniff.”

“Alright, Rylen… Let’s sit and take a look.”

Rylen turned his unfocused eyes up at the glorious vision before him and smiled, wide and giddy. “You, lass…horned lady…”

“I know,” she said, easing the two of them to the ground.

“You…fuckin’ beauty, y’know?”

She laughed. “That so?”

“Fuck…yeah…” He almost felt a little better on the ground, almost coherent. Here, however, the dizziness was replaced with an overwhelming desire to vomit over the stones. He gulped several times with a dry throat to keep the nausea down.

Keram pried his shield off his arm—“Fuckin’ ow!”—and eased off his gauntlet. Rylen never figured himself for squeamish, but the interspersed ragged bite marks oozing yellowed pus was bringing back his urge to be sick. “Blighted lizard fucks,” he gasped turning away.

“Not too deep. You fought them fiercely, Rylen.” He heard her digging in her pack, hissed at the stinging as thick liquid poured over his arm, and relaxed at the feel of her long, warm fingers bandaging his forearm.

“Horned lass…you’re a-a savior. For a mage…fuck, you’re fantastic.”

“For a mage.”

He found it in his dazed consciousness to realize he had said something wrong. He blushed. “N-no! It’s not that, it’s just…” Rylen groaned and tried to think past his whirring thoughts to string something more coherent together, something to tell her… “You’re jus’…so beau’ifle an’ I jus’…” He panted with the effort of thinking. Rylen shook his head in a vain hope to clear it and instantly regretted it. It nearly made him violently sick. “I…you mean so’much. In my head…” He gestured vaguely to his forehead. “All the time!”

Keram watched him wordlessly, and Rylen squinted, unable to discern anything from her. He wanted to kiss her, but didn’t trust himself to even find her lips on his own. Already, he knew he was making an ass of himself and he refused to add to it by accidentally snogging her chin. So to distract himself, he babbled. If he kept talking to fill the silence, he only hoped that eventually he would make sense. If nothing else, it was clearing his body of some of the furious bubbling.

“Magic? Doe’n’t matter. I jus’ need to be near you, all time. Fuck. Stupid fuckin’ bat demons. Why’s ev’rything in this fuckin’ place poisonous?!”

Keram giggled at him, and he shot her a dopey grin. Maybe the poison would be good for something. He could find a measure of sanity, couldn’t he? Asking her to be his now gave him an out. If things went south, he could write it off as being delirious and if she didn’t appreciate the attention in the slightest maybe she would take mercy on a poisoned sod. Seemed as good a ploy as any in his drugged mind.

“Lass, you keep findin’ me an’ I don’ git why. I’m not…not so great, you know? I’m...just Rylen, nothing really. Not like you. Fuck.” Rylen took a deep, cleansing breath and felt some measure of his mind come back to him. Enough to feel a peal of nervousness explode inside him. “I don’ know why you come to me, an’ I don’ know why I think of you, but I…I don’t want it to stop. I-I don’t…horned lass, no…I don’t…”

Laughing heartily at him, Keram shook her head. Rylen looked up at her sheepishly, trying and failing to steady himself for the worst. “Foolish Basvaarad. I don’t think it’s the poison is making you talk nonsense any longer.” She pulled him into her lap, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn’t _quite_ unopposed to the new arrangement. Not since he was close enough to her that he could smell her spicy sun kissed skin. He felt warm and his head spun for a whole different reason. “Rylen, you sly thing. You surprise me more and more each time we meet.”

The harsh kiss she pressed to his lips banished the last vestiges of the poison with a hot surge in his blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we can begin with all the smut, yay!


	4. He Was A Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen finally figures out, without a shadow of doubt in his mind, that he's headed for certain disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made something that wasn't garbage, I am so happy!!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Maker’s hairy balls, his head was _killing_ him. The poison took its sweet ass time to ebb away, but it wasn’t leaving Rylen without a bloody fight. In his humble, doubled over opinion, the splitting headache the venom was replaced with was nearly as bad as being bitten. His arm gave a painful twinge that set his teeth on edge. _Ah_! Maybe there was no contest after all.

_Well that bloody settles it, doesn’t it?_ he snarled at himself. Starting _today_ , his new life’s mission was to track down every last fucking Varghest and cut the damn things down. _Nothing_ in the Approach deserved to be so fucking foul. Save perhaps, Rylen’s own mood.

A healer stood before him, checking Rylen’s bandaged arm. Pretty thing, but her attitude was making him more aggravated than was probably necessary. It wasn’t _her_ fault that he’d decided sticking his arm in a Varghest’s jaws was a bloody good idea. It wasn’t _her_ fault the next few hours were a haze of mortifying incidents. It _was_ her fault that he was stuck here instead of in the mess hall, drowning his grievances in shitty food. It _was_ her fault that he had a nasty poultice to nurse instead. Damn, that alone was reason enough to be so sour. Rylen’s stomach made an unpleasant churn as he looked doubtfully at the half finished vial of shit he had to choke down before he could be released. About as thick as mud from the Mire, the stuff was pleasant as a whole horde of Darkspawn.

In fact, Rylen decided, he’d rather drink whatever those blighted monsters did. Reckoned it’d taste better.

Andraste’s ass, he would _kill_ for a decent meal in his belly; he was _starving_. Bloody healers wouldn’t let him near anything. They insisted an empty stomach would flush the worst out quicker. An empty stomach was a good way to get _throttled_ quicker, right enough. Not that anyone _asked_ him. Not that anyone deserved to be throttled just yet. Not even the bloody healer, moving on with one last reproachful look at the unfinished poultice.

_You drink this poor excuse for a liquid while everyone else eats potatoes and ram, and then we’ll see who’s throwing **who** dirty looks_. Rylen scoffed at her behind her back. Stuck out his tongue, too, like he was five summers old again, but fuck all if he cared just now.

A harmless outlet. Not that she really deserved even that. She didn’t deserve to be throttled for doing her job, either, Rylen’s foul mood aside. If anyone deserved it…

He ran a hand over his face, his exhaustion truly settling into his bones, as he recalled just how much of a fucking _moron_ he had been in the desert. The hard nausea that welled up in his throat at the thought of the day’s events _almost_ distracted him from dreading the thick shit in the flask. Almost. After the culmination of pitiful instances that made up his life, this was all icing on the cake, really. With a groan, Rylen wondered if he drank enough of the revolting medicine maybe he would be lucky enough to keel over before he had to face Keram again.

Not that he regretted anything that had happened _per say_. Though if it had all happened a _smidgen_ differently, he wouldn’t have complained nearly so much. Rylen could have certainly gone without being poisoned and without being reduced to a blathering fucking idiot. The beautiful woman did that to him well enough. He hadn’t needed the help; thanks for nothing, bloody Varghest. Still, Rylen found he couldn’t argue with results. Keram had gracefully borne every slurred declaration of her beauty and accepted every sloppy ass kiss he insisted on pressing to her cheeks while he was high out of his fucking mind. She had certainly been more accommodating than he ever would have expected of her. His bloody head was still on his shoulders. That alone spoke volumes. In an entire day of foolishness, Keram only knocked Rylen flat on his ass _once_ and, in all fairness, he would have slapped _himself_ had he had the capacity. She was even kind enough to pull her strength, leaving Rylen with only bruises from his tumble down the dunes. Not a single bone was broken, and for that, Rylen counted himself as _damn lucky_. After all the nonsense, he could say—with very little doubt in his mind now—that the Qunari temptress did indeed have a soft spot for one undeserving Knight-Captain.

What that meant, exactly, Rylen still had no fucking idea.

Grimacing down at the waiting flask, he resigned to his poltice-induced suicide. With a deep breath, he raised the glass to his lips. As soon as it hit his tongue, Rylen choked and nearly spit it all out again. The liquid tasted more like mud and moldy cheese than any fucking medicine should have and dumping it down his throat was no good. It stuck to his tongue, coated his mouth, lingered in every way he didn’t want it to. For that alone, Rylen would avoid the damn desert animals from now on. Next time he felt like being heroic, he’d remember _this_. Rylen shuddered violently and pressed his arm to his mouth to keep from heaving the vile stuff back up. If it was bad going down…Rylen didn’t want to think about tasting it twice.

“Did they forget the lemon again?” came a teasing, husky voice from the mouth of the tent.

Rylen knew that voice. It made him both yearn miserably and curse vehemently at the _same bloody time_. He had spent too many nights fantasizing about its sultry owner, _far_ more time remembering her voice than was appropriate for his station.

He looked over his shoulder to see Keram, the fucking vision herself, looking obscenely large under the canvas tent that served as the Keep’s makeshift infirmary. She had to duck, just enough to be inconvenient, always well aware she could snag her horns on the tarp. If Rylen recalled correctly, those pointed tips had done in fabric before. Maker, he wanted to laugh at her—at the memory—his chest was already warm enough to catch fire.

Rylen felt a wry smile tug at his lips, knowing his eyes had lingered too long over the giantess. He couldn’t help it, not with the way his Maker-damned heart had jumped into his throat at just the sight of her, gangly and annoyed as she was. Damn her. Damn himself. A thousand times over. “Could use more zest, this one,” he joked, too flippant for the way his stomach tightened. “You’ll pass it on Requisitions, I hope?”

He watched the amusement play over her face as if she was unsure how the emotion fit on her sharp features. With baited breath, Rylen waited for it. The tiny upturn in the corner of her lips flickered into place with a begrudging shake of her head. Sighing, Rylen realized he would do next to _anything_ for that smile.

“Did you come to check on me, Inquisitor? I’m touched.”

Tossing the offensive empty vial aside, Rylen stood to stretch. Even with his eyes half closed, he didn’t miss the appreciative once over that Keram hardly bothered hiding. He couldn’t bloody help it, he grinned from ear to ear. _Like it?_ he wanted to ask, but he didn’t trust the way Keram stared back at him, completely unabashed at being caught. If his knowledge of their previous record was worth any salt, it wouldn’t be difficult to guess at what would happen after calling her out. Better not risk the innocence of the healers under his command. He had just regained his fucking mind, now wasn’t the time to lose his head to boyish fancies—and reopen his newly healed wounds, at that. But _damn_ , did it make him feel good, impressive even. Almost nixed his bleeding headache too.

“You flatter yourself, Captain,” she simpered, nodding her head to the exit.

With a sigh, Rylen followed her out into the warm evening. The air was heavy and settled over the desert like a blanket. The sun had barely set, dull edges of orange and pink still lancing up over the horizon and casting long shadows across the walls of the Keep. It had to be the nicest night he’d seen since coming to the Approach. Nicer still that he walked side-by-side, talking amiably with the very Inquisitor that was making his life a delightful blighted hell. Keram led with slow, deliberate strides through the abandoned corridors to the half-concealed mess hall, if Rylen’s sense of direction and nose was telling him proper. His view however kept him thoroughly distracted from the brunt of their conversation, eyes flicking none too secretly to the Qunari’s ass. In her supple leather riding pants, the curve was too alluring for him to resist. _One good thing came of it_ , he thought as he tasted parched lips with his tongue and pushed away memories of their tangled bodies. Trying his damnedest not to reach out and squeeze her was making him forget about how badly he wanted to eat a whole bloody druffalo.

“Nothing to say for yourself, Captain?”

Rylen’s eyes snapped up and he gulped, audibly. Keram waited, her brow arched, for a response to something he hadn’t even heard. His mind scraped to piece together what they bloody well had been talking about before he blurted something out of line and made his face even hotter than it already was.

“I had thought you would want to know more about our researcher,” Keram prompted. “Since when we met him, you were demanding that he reveal himself as Corypheus?”

“I—” Rylen choked. Maker, he hadn’t really, had he? For the life of him he couldn’t fucking remember!

“You tried to pull his mask off. He was _very_ offended.” Keram glanced over at him, her eyes were shining with mirth in the half darkness. “So instead of telling him where he could stick his dragon books, I’ll be making up for your accusation personally. Orlesians and their damn masks… I will now be assisting him with his research.”

“My apologies, lass.” Rylen sighed and ran his hand over his face. How could he have blundered up _that_ fucking badly? Bad enough that now _the Inquisitor_ was making reparations on his behalf! Commander Cullen would not be pleased when he heard the news. Rylen would get a lecture for sure. A bloody lashing if he kept Keram in the Approach for longer than she should have been. “I can take care of it if you would like. It was my mistake after all.” _Please, let me take care of it. Let me fix this blighted mess!_

Instead the woman chuckled and waved him away. The sound sent an unbidden tremor through Rylen’s body and made his footing irritatingly unsteady.

“Don’t worry about it, Captain. It’s nothing I can’t handle. And if I get to face off with a dragon at the end, then so much the better. Bull has been _begging_ me to go take a look at her anyway.”

And just like that, Rylen’s slowly creeping desire was snuffed out like a dying candle. “Lass,” he sighed, unsure of how best to word his thoughts. He wasn’t certain _why_ he was suddenly apprehensive, only that he _was_ , without truly meaning to. What that meant for him, he shuddered to think about. The mention of the mercenary was bad enough, but something about her disregard for a High Dragon had him uncomfortably adjusting his mail. “Just…just be careful alright?”

“Why? _Worried?”_

The challenge in her voice told him plenty. Keram was goading him—had she been doing that the whole bloody time? Rylen ran his thumb over his lip in thought, asking himself for the hundredth time what the Qunari wanted. What did _he_ even want, for that matter? Pining after Keram got him nowhere, lusting after her answered none of the questions gnawing ceaselessly at his mind. Rylen was _certain_ that he worried about her for reasons beyond putting the precious Inquisitor in danger. He was _certain_ that being around her made him more at ease than it should have— _a Qunari **mage** , Rylen, how big of an idiot **are** you?_ Despite that, he was even certain that being _with_ her was easy. She was easy to kiss and easier to feel flush beneath him. For what it was worth to him, he couldn’t even in good conscience write off his desires as a lustful craving for a forbidden fruit. Keram was beyond a simple Circle mage and Rylen hardly thought of himself as a Templar these days.

But what could he possibly make of all of that?

To define them meant that things would change, and he sure wasn’t searching for that. He had no reservations about their lots in life, no wish to even change them. She was always the Inquisitor, the Herald, and he would always be the Knight-Captain, the second in command, not even important enough to appear at her War Table. Whatever he dared to pursue, it was as finite as the Inquisition itself. If he was being honest, it would never even leave the walls of the Keep.

And he was fine with that.

For whatever would come, perhaps Rylen owed the both of them his own honesty. He hoped he would find some comfort in it, should Keram decide she didn’t like what he had to say, and snapped his bones in two. “I am worried about you,” he conceded carefully, measuring the syllables in his mouth before he spoke. Any one of them could be a misstep as far as he was concerned. “It _is_ a bloody _dragon_ , after all, lass. I wouldn’t want to lose you so soon.”

“Yes, what _would_ the Inquisition do without its damn Herald?” Keram snorted in derision.

“No, lass,” Rylen corrected, looking up at her seriously. He needed to finally say what was on his mind. He was bloody sick of guessing. “I’m not talking about the Inquisition. Look, I know that I said a lot of shit today…” Where was he going? What would it even sodding achieve? Closure was what he wanted, certainty, knowing that at least they were finding the same kind of relief in each other. Yet Rylen couldn’t find it in him to form words. His brain was going fuzzy, ideas shapeless and half formed. He cursed at butterflies and a swollen tongue, without even the luxury of blaming the poison anymore.

“Rylen,” Keram rumbled.

“What is _this_ —”

But whatever he had thought to say was scattered. Keram moved swiftly, too fast for a damn giantess, and before he could make heads or tails of what was happening, he was lost. Her fingers curled around the edges of his breastplate and the blighted ground disappeared from beneath his very boots. Rylen’s back was shoved against the wall, the breath rushing from his lungs in a heavy, surprised grunt. He hadn’t even time to do more than gasp before Keram silenced his protests with a fierce, blazing kiss that sent shocks all through his body. The soft curve of her lips were anything but gentle, ravaging against him, _taking_ this time, not asking. Rylen’s head fucking spun, fingers scrabbling at the crumbling wall for purchase. She was rough with her tongue, more teeth in between, scraping over his lip and dragging a guttural groan from deep in his throat. Every inch of her was hot and strong. Keram pinned him with her luscious mouth, a knee between his legs, and never a chance to catch his breath.

His limbs snapped to, abandoning their search for control and he surrendered to her. His blood roaring loudly in his ears, lungs searing, his fingers tangled in her long loose hair and gripped her desperately. Parting would _end_ him; there was never a moment before this where he hadn’t been _more_ bloody certain. He would kiss to bruising and press _deeper_ , and Maker take him, Keram could use him for all he had. If only he could have the privilege to kiss her like _this_ in return…

Keram pulled away as suddenly as she had started, breaking his grip on her so easily Rylen might have laughed if he hadn’t still been in shock. Somewhat pleased with himself, he studied her flushed, freckled cheeks, the excited heave of her chest, the way her nostrils flared as she fought for her breath, unmistakably riled. He committed it all to memory. Rylen saw the fire blazing in her emerald eyes, mirroring his own, and nearly hissed with his need. His hands tightened over hers, the throbbing in his breeches more insistent now that he could breathe again.

If he could drag her away to his quarters…that would be the fucking end of it. All the aching laid to rest as he fucked her, again, and _again_ , and for as long as he could drink of her. Even if he could pull her back for just another kiss. Maker, he’d give anything in all the bloody world for another taste of her.

The corner of her full lips quirked for a moment, distracting Rylen from his growing desire. The Qunari abruptly released him from her grasp and he slid ungracefully down the wall, his teeth gritting against the grind of his plate on the stones. He just barely caught himself on shaking legs with the wall to steady him before he completely crumpled onto his ass. Low laughter wafted back to him as he righted himself, Keram already walking away from the carnage of her kiss with her damn alluring saunter.

_You play it like **that** then, lass? _ Rylen thought, wild and too bold for his own damn good. He hesitated for no more than a moment. Conscience rapidly drowned out by adrenaline and a rush of blood.

He caught up with the woman in a few short strides, already grinning and giddy. Rylen’s fingers closed tightly over Keram’s arm, stopping her as she walked, while his other hand met a round ass cheek with a sharp, satisfying slap. Her eyes widened for a moment in unconcealed shock— _how did it feel, eh, being taken advantage of when you least expected it?_ The absurdity of her expression made him shake with laughter—

—until she had slammed him back into the wall, pinning him with her arm and her hot lips. With a kiss like that, he spiraled and melted, completely ignoring the lances of pain in the back of his head. His hands dug into the flesh of her curvy hips and Rylen ground his erection up against Keram’s heat. Her moan against his lips sent a shock of desire straight to his aching cock. She was eager against him, clutching him with her other hand, and all he could imagine was her writhing beneath him and begging him to fuck her harder.

Bullocks to the sodding mess hall, his appetite had taken an _entirely_ different turn.

Keram’s mouth parted for him and Rylen slid his tongue against hers, light, teasing, while one hand smoothed up her body. The Qunari woman grunted in frustration and tried to press closer to him, but Rylen’s mind was made up. He ignored her protests, and even (by some divine will of the bloody Maker) ignored the insistent grind of her hips over his. The friction sent spasms of pleasure through his body until he could think of little else except removing the fabric separating them. The edges of his control were being picked apart and peeled away from him, despite his valiant attempts to cling to them. Keram pressed her body closer, trapping Rylen completely, her clever tongue begging for more from him than he wanted to give just now.

So he yanked her away, his fingers closing around one of her long horns. The Qunari hissed as Rylen dragged her face none too gently away from his. He smirked at her unconcealed desire, his own raging like an inferno inside him; some spell of this mage’s, cast on him when he wasn’t looking. _Fucking had to be_.

She glared at him, bright green practically sparking, waiting for him to take her. Rylen, however, was content to look at her, memorize her. Every freckle, every scar, and the insolent set of her lovely mouth. He was enthralled by the long exposure of her throat to him, taut muscles and soft skin, jumping as her pulse pounded, rippling as she swallowed. The sight awoke something bloody _carnal_ in him.

His mouth greedily sought the curve of it, tongue tasting every inch of her as he pushed and pulled her against him, spinning her and delighting in pinning her against the wall instead. She panted at the harsh work of his lips. He sucked, craving one of her sensual _moans._ The ones that made him tremble, the ones that felt like they were truly _his_. When all he got was a hitch in her breath for his efforts, Rylen changed his strategy. Instead, he bit the sensitive flesh, harder perhaps than he meant to, and tugged on her horn until it hit the stones behind her.

That fucking moan made him more satisfied than he had any right to be and only belatedly, he realized it was his own bloody _name_. If anyone had finished in the mess hall, they would have heard it—without a doubt—and the idea made him grin in spite of himself, in spite of knowing all the troops would talk and he’d get an earful from the Commander. Rylen couldn’t have cared less if he’d fucking tried. May as well tumble over the edge if he was already headed to ruin.

He ground himself against her thigh and leaned close to her ear to whisper, “My quarters are only down the hall, your Worship.”

“Afraid you’ll be found out, Captain?” Keram hissed. Open challenge burned in her eyes. She was daring him. And Rylen was enough of a fool to bite.

_Takes blood in the head in order to think straight._

Rylen smirked at her and watched the vivid colors dance in her eyes. His own excitement raged inside him, battling and fueling his desire for the glorious woman baiting him.

“On your order, Inquisitor, I’ll prove to you just how _unafraid_ I am.”


	5. An Illustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An illustration I commissioned for the last chapter. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a real chapter, but I come bearing gifts??  
> ✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:* \\(◕︿◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> (also, I know it's probably large, but I am schwastey and do not know how to html. I'm lucky I got this)

Art by [sometrashland](http://sometrashland.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. :D

 

She glared at him, bright green practically sparking, waiting for him to take her. Rylen, however, was content to look at her, memorize her. Every freckle, every scar, and the insolent set of her lovely mouth. He was enthralled by the long exposure of her throat to him, taut muscles and soft skin, jumping as her pulse pounded, rippling as she swallowed. The sight awoke something bloody _carnal_ in him.

His mouth greedily sought the curve of it, tongue tasting every inch of her as he pushed and pulled her against him, spinning her and delighting in pinning her against the wall instead. She panted at the harsh work of his lips. He sucked, craving one of her sensual _moans._ The ones that made him tremble, the ones that felt like they were truly _his_. When all he got was a hitch in her breath for his efforts, Rylen changed his strategy. Instead, he bit the sensitive flesh, harder perhaps than he meant to, and tugged on her horn until it hit the stones behind her.

That fucking moan made him more satisfied than he had any right to be and only belatedly, he realized it was his own bloody _name_. If anyone had finished in the mess hall, they would have heard it—without a doubt—and the idea made him grin in spite of himself, in spite of knowing all the troops would talk and he’d get an earful from the Commander. Rylen couldn’t have cared less if he’d fucking tried. May as well tumble over the edge if he was already headed to ruin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but seriously, I'm hoping my struggle is over and I can actually post something real in the next few days. Fingers crossed!!


	6. He Was Brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen is having the time of his life and Chevin disapproves. The bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me about not updating for so. dang. long. But I think the creative dry spell may be over! *crosses fingers* Anyway, I come with another chapter, and I hope that it was at least a little worth waiting for. :)

Somehow, even being beneath the dubious shade of the operations tent, it was still hot as balls in the Western Approach. Somehow, even though all the soldiers around Rylen were sweating out of their armor, he didn’t care a lick about the stifling heat. Somehow, he grinned at all of them as they squeezed themselves into the tent. Somehow, he cracked dry jokes as he briefed them on their mission. Somehow, he was a positive ray of fucking sunshine.

Michel de Chevin, on the other hand, stood across the desk from Rylen and threw him more exasperated expressions during one meeting than Rylen’s own mother had throughout his entire life.

And Rylen made a point of ignoring _all of them_.

Truth be told, he already knew what the chevalier would say. Rylen had already endured the lecture more times than he cared to. He didn’t need to hear it again. By now, he could probably recite the damned thing.

Be wary of overstepping your boundaries, Rylen. Make a distinction between command and pleasures, Rylen. Guard yourself, Rylen. Be sure you know what you’re doing, Rylen. _Don’t_ bloody _do it_ in front of the troops, FOR THE MAKER’S SAKE, RYLEN! HAVE YOU NO DECORUM?

_Pah! Keep it to your bloody self, you Orlesian sod._

This time, for almost an entire briefing Chevin had managed to keep his comments to himself and Rylen nearly thanked the Maker. Bloody _nearly_. But it seemed that Chevin’s self-control had finally run out. As Rylen handed him a map and dismissed their troops, Chevin cleared his throat. It wasn’t very leader-like, he’d be the first to admit, but Rylen couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes.

“You are allocating a lot of resources to this cause,” Chevin said deliberately when they were the only two left in the tent, “and though your plan is fairly foolproof, I cannot help but wonder if there was a _better_ one that was proposed to you some time ago. Perhaps by myself? Are you certain you have this right, Knight-Captain?”

Rylen scowled at the chavalier's loaded questions before dismissing it with a shake of his head. “I’ve considered all possibilities, and this is the best course of action. Just take care of those Venatori, Chevin.”

“If you say so, Captain. I simply wonder if the Inquisitor agrees with you.”

It was all Rylen could do to keep his temper in check. He glared at Chevin who stared back completely unabashed. No matter how the man bloody phrased it, Rylen knew what Chevin was hinting at. As if he could bloody well not. Rylen leaned over the desk, making a show of pulling fresh reports closer to him with unsteady hands and bit back his well versed and… _unpleasant_ response.

“This is _my_ Keep,” Rylen spat at the wood through grit teeth. “The Inquisitor defers to my judgement in all matters.”

Well-meaning though the obnoxious chevalier was, Rylen didn't _need_ Chevin’s shit right now. Certainly not when things were going _so_ damn well. He didn't need Chevin riding in high and mighty, acting as if he knew better than Rylen about what the bloody hell he was doing.

“I think you are going about it all wrong,” Chevin said gently, but Rylen was finished listening.

“No! Not again! You have your fucking orders, now get out of here!” he snapped.

With one last dubious look, the other man shook his sweat-damp hair back and eased his helmet over his head until the iron forged mask completely obscured his face. “Fine. But do not think for a moment that this is over.”

Nearly as soon as Chevin left, Rylen sighed and let the guilt wash over him. He would never admit it, but Chevin was _right_.

It had been weeks. Weeks of the desert being the _best_ blighted place he's ever lived. Weeks of being climbed on before he knew what the fuck was happening. Weeks of being dragged away by a mighty temptress only half against his will. But he’d never been bloody happier!

There were days he could hardly walk; there were days he had to limp into the infirmary and ask sheepishly for special poultices, but he would never trade it for a damn thing. That Qunari could beckon her little finger at him and he would always come running. She could throw him over her shoulder and take him for all he cared. This game of cat and mouse they played, this game of who could push who the furthest, a wolf and a halla, and, Maker’s ass, Rylen had never felt more alive than when he was with _that woman_. She used him, she drove him mad, she tempted him and she astounded him and more than that, he was entirely hers. They fucked like bloody rabbits; here, there, wherever they could find. Their passions found them whenever they found them and there was no stopping either of them. With nothing more than her smile he knew it was over.

Everything was physical. And everything was _now_.

Sounded bloody _amazing_ if you had asked him a few weeks ago. But Chevin saw the truth where Rylen would never admit it: there was something _wrong_.

It was like he was eighteen again and there was a beautiful woman that demanded all his time and energy. But he knew too well what had happened the last time he let himself go for someone else’s amusement.... So far as he could tell, Rylen was headed straight for that same ruin again unless he listened to Chevin and regained some fucking sense.

But it was difficult to _want_ to listen when it seemed that at every turn the Chevalier shook his head with what bloody felt like disappointment. Rylen couldn’t escape his damn _judgment!_ The mornings where he came into the mess hall, hair disheveled, only to find Chevin frowning at him were so frequent that he had stopped going altogether. Instead, he sent a damn page to go and fetch him breakfast every day—in his own fucking Keep! All Rylen had bloody wanted to do was impart of Chevin how _ecstatic_ he was, how _relieved_ he was to be the one Keram chose, how _fantastic_ that bloody Qunari was, while all _Chevin_ wanted to do was inquire after Rylen’s well-being and lecture on responsibility. He expected this shit from Cullen, or even starry-eyed Barris but Michal de Chevin, the pretty boy from Orlais?

Perhaps he made assumptions, but he had expected support. No matter what the truth may be, Rylen didn’t want the bloody reality, he wanted a Maker damned friend. Why Chevin insisted on being his fucking mother instead was beyond him.

So now he sat here, telling himself he was having the time of his life, and all he could think of were the chevalier’s words… _Are you_ certain _you have this right, Knight -Captain?_

Rylen brushed the creeping feeling of unease off. Of _course!_ He was bloody fine! He was the luckiest fuck this side of the Frostbacks, all because of—

The sudden rustle of tarp tent flaps parting drew him from his thoughts. Rylen glanced up to bark at a scout only to find a rather welcome intruder studying him intently.

“Ah, Inquisitor Adaar, I was hoping you'd stop by...”

He _would_ have filled her in on the briefing. He _would_ have asked where she was planning on heading to next. He _would_ have given her any pertinent information his head scout had come back with just that morning. If he felt brave enough, he _might_ have even initiated one more romp before she departed.

That was, if he hadn’t seen that fucking _smile_. The tiny upturn he craved so dearly widened into a grin. Keram’s smile wiped his mind frustratingly blank. He had no bloody defense against it, it was his fucking weakness every time. Rylen had only precious moments to regain control of the situation, to maybe turn it to his advantage instead, but by the time he understood, it was too late. That was always the damn giantess’ way with him.

Letting out something akin to a growl, Keram crossed the small space in one stride, and Rylen immediately _knew_ today’s game was hers.

“Keram—”

The Qunari had him in her clutches before he could spring away. The giantess moved alarmingly fast for her bloody size. _Fast as a fucking Quillback_ , Rylen thought wildly, his head already spinning.

His years of Templar training kicked in like instinct but to no avail. One short, very _one-sided_ wrestle later and Rylen was pinned; both his wrists were caught in only _one_ of her hands, her arm tight across his plate, crushing his back against her chest. Try as he might to wriggle away, he was fucking done for, and Maker’s breath, the anticipation had him panting.

Rylen could feel the heat of her body, smell the spiced scent of her wild hair spilling over his shoulder, and it _scattered_ his thoughts. She overtook all his senses one by one until he was mad with lust, cock already straining in his trousers, ready to beg for her. His imagination ran fucking wild; the feel her round tits pressed against his back too easy to recall, the sensual sounds she made echoing in his mind. The fucking images _his own mind_ conjured! Their vivid detail had to be blood magic, his complete surrender a trick of mind control. It _had_ to be _something else_ making him so damn insane. Maker, it couldn’t just be this fucking mage woman! Maker, don’t let it _just_ be her!

_Get your head together, Rylen! You’re a bloody Templar!_

Right. He was a Templar. Where was his mental fortitude now?

His boots scuffed pathetically on the ground and Keram’s throaty chuckle was the only warning he had before she yanked him so tight to her chest that he was wheezing for breath. Keram’s free hand smoothed lower over his body as Rylen’s bloody world spun. She eased it beneath his sash, tugging at the laces of his breeches and eased them lower over his hips. Her skin blazed on his where she touched him, leaving an aching trail behind her fingers. She bloody teased him, purposely avoiding the part of him that wanted her the fucking most.

_Oh sweet Maker, please, fuuuck._ He actually whimpered, weak willed sod as he was.

Keram’s fingers wrapped around his balls, her thumb tracing long strokes over his throbbing cock. Her nails scraped sensitive skin just enough to have Rylen clenching his jaw, barely containing a hiss as he tried to buck his hips into her hand to find relief for the burning in his body.

“I thought I might catch you here, Knight-Captain,” she hummed in his ear. Her breath was hot and the timbre of her voice rumbled through him in shivers. He delighted in all of the sensation, in all of her, closing his eyes and succumbing. It was too fucking easy to give in. He was trapped again by this furious bloody creature, and all he wanted to do was to press even further into her, to swallow her moans in his mouth as he’d done every time he took her. He was her all too willing captive every time.

But Rylen was getting tired of her blighted teasing. Each stroke of her thumb, each tug of her fingers sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine but it wasn’t fucking _enough_. He hissed at the roiling heat simmering beneath his skin. It would burn him, slow and deliberate. _She_ would burn him at her leisure...unless he could stoke a wildfire in her.

“Did you only come to toy with me, lass? Or should I _actually_ be worried?”

He could practically feel her fucking grin against his cheek.

Keram gripped his whole length hard in her hand and pumped him. Once, twice, then Rylen lost all sense. His eyes squeezed shut against the intense desire that pooled in his body. She would be the fucking death of him, he was sure. This time was _it_ , like he’d thought so many bloody times before, but this—

Rylen felt her tongue languid and wet, trace a trail from his jaw to his ear where she tugged the lobe between her teeth. Rylen bit his lip to strangle his moan, acutely aware that all that separated them from the soldiers outside was bloody canvas. Too much noise, and he would attract attention, then some fucking scout would wander in and find their captain…compromised.

“Talk about toying. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

He smiled, his first attempt at responding to her taunt turning into a breathy pant as Keram let her nails snag gently along his length. “F-fight? You’re doing what _I_ wanted, lass—”

She increased her pace and Rylen’s muscles tensed in a spasm of pleasure, his back arching into her tightly. Rylen could hardly decipher his thoughts any longer as desire drove him insane. His heart raced in his chest and his breathing was ragged from between his clenched teeth.

“I’m almost disappointed,” Keram murmured in his ear, the soft caresses of her lips leaving him aching for her mouth on his. Matching her new rhythm, Rylen rocked his hips into the steady work of her hand. “But then again, now I have _you_ where _I_ want you.” His blood was roaring in his ears, his breathing heavy. “You could have had me bent over your desk, Captain. You could have fucked me until I screamed for you in the middle of the Keep. I would have begged for you. Wouldn’t you have wanted that?”

“I-I—”

“Too bad, Basvaarad. Now _you’ll_ beg for _me_.”

Rylen’s fingers dug into the arm that was holding him captive. He squeezed as pressure in his body built, coiling and hot and ready to undo him. “You won’t—get a peep out of me,” he panted. Pretty brave words, considering where he was, but he couldn’t help but goad her. Rylen smiled at himself, almost proud, until he immediately ate his fucking words. Keram squeezed her fist over the head of his cock and he gave her a loud pitifully strangled moan.

“No?” Keram hissed, nipping hard at his neck, scattering all his thoughts. “You’re too loud, Captain. Do you _want_ to draw the whole Keep to us?” Abandoning his wrists, her other hand clamped hard over his mouth. Rylen’s eyes shot wide with surprise as he was suddenly picked up, his feet leaving the ground entirely, Keram perching him on her knee. “No one will hear you, Basvaarad. _You’re mine!”_

Keram’s new pace was merciless. She pumped his cock, her own breathing becoming labored in his ear, encouraging him on. And fuck, he groaned with abandon into her hand. He broke down into muffled pleas and strings of swearing as the desire pent hot in his body. He bucked into her movements, wild, never quite matching but in a vain effort to control something! Because _fuck_ , he was losing everything he had so quickly; his mind given to pleasure, his body twitching. He twisted against her, pleasure racking his body in an angry assault. Rylen was weak, his blood pounding furiously, stars popping across his vision as he moaned. His body tensed, shaking with the effort of the pent up desire and he—

“Fuuuuck!” His agonized cry was muffled into her hand and as he bucked with his wild orgasm, Keram’s arms tightened, trapping him against her. The limiting movement only drove him further into his blind, arousing insanity.

And the damn woman didn’t stop. Her hand slid over him even as he rode the last vestiges of his pleasure until he was certain he would no longer walk straight. The edges of his vision blurred and darkened and for a moment he thought he was going to lose bloody consciousness.

But then he heard it: the clank of plated footsteps drawing closer, the shuffling of papers and aggravated muttering in Orlesian. It broke through the haze like shattering glass and made Rylen instantly alert. Keram had heard it too. She released him unceremoniously, tugging at his trousers and pulling his sash back into place and before he could register what the bloody _fuck_ was happening, the Qunari was gone.

Rylen collapsed forward onto his desk, his legs shaking violently as Chevin pushed his way back through the tent flaps. He was speaking to him, but Rylen didn’t hear him. His stomach had dropped but his vision still spun. He tried desperately to force himself to look casual, taking deep gulping breaths and pressing a hand to his temple. Despite his efforts he still had a white knuckled grip on the edge of the table and he still panted like a fucking rabid dog. The other man stopped short, eyeing him searchingly. “Are you all right, Rylen? You look—”

“I'm fucking fine, Chevin!” Rylen snapped. He winced at how hoarse his voice sounded in his ears. “Andraste's tits, it's just... it’s just fucking hot out here in the bloody desert, alright?”

“Alright! Alright! Calm down, friend. I shall simply ask a scout then, no need to be so feisty...”

He threw one last questioning look over his shoulder at Rylen before he, too, was gone.

Then the fucking rumbling laughter started.

Rylen spun on the sound and shook his finger at the canvas as he spoke. “Laugh now, but I’ll fucking get you back for this you blighted giantess. You mark my bloody words...”

“Oh, I should hope so," she simpered, "otherwise, what would be the point?”

And so life at the Keep bloody went.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Keram sought him out in the mess hall. It wasn’t the first time she’d joined Rylen at his table, and he hoped it would become routine for her. He was secretly beginning to like that Keram spent time with him outside their more carnal urges. Being in her presence made the Keep feel alive and lifted Rylen's spirits without fail. The only downside (if it could be called one) was that she brought an entourage of followers wherever she went. While he was somewhat annoyed with the disruption at first, Rylen was becoming used to the constant company. So much so that he was even beginning to _maybe_ like the Ben-Hassrath mercenary (though it probably helped that Rylen knew Keram was only interested in himself). They filled his nights with laughter and stories, all the while their leader made eyes at him or squeezed his thigh beneath the table. Sometimes she would tease him, making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else but her damn hand; all the more to laugh at how he blushed, she told him once when he had whined about it.

Tonight was no exception.

Varric was telling a no doubt exaggerated tale of their fight against a Venatori outpost from earlier that day (the tell for Rylen was that Varric claimed he pinned four fully armored soldiers to the wall with one crossbow bolt, even though he also said that Keram had picked up a Venatori mage and swung him over her head by his ankle before throwing him down a mine shaft. _That one_ he could bloody believe!). There was no doubt in Rylen’s mind that the dwarf had a damn good penchant for storytelling. So much so that his vivid words and grand, sweeping gesturing had enraptured everyone at the table, both those that had been there to witness said feats, and awestruck soldiers. Rylen, however, was only half-listening in amusement, more occupied by Keram’s hand trailing fire up his thigh, when she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“What sort of punishment did you derive for me tonight, Basvaarad?”

Rylen smirked to himself. Oh, he had bloody thought about it all day. There were only too many ways to get back at the dastardly mage for catching him off guard and he had pictured them all in their glorious fucking detail one by one. He had fantasized about each idea until he nearly drove himself crazy with lust…and then dismissed them all.

“I haven’t,” he said simply, taking a satisfied drink from his tankard. He didn’t look at her even though he could practically feel her confusion. He couldn’t. If he had, he might’ve lost his fucking nerve.

“What?”

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Keram.”

“But… What do you mean?”

Draining the last of his ale, Rylen pushed away from the table. He stretched and yawned and excused himself for bed.

He paused, glimpsing Keram’s hardened expression—as close as she came to confusion, he guessed—and bent so he could whisper in her ear, barely masking the glee from his voice. “I’m withholding sex, lass. Have a good night without me.”


	7. He Was Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen gets everything he wanted. That fucking terrifies him.

The pink and gold shades of dawn filtered into Rylen’s room sooner than he would have liked. It reached through his northeastern facing window like an unwanted guest, probing at his eyelids uncomfortably and illuminating a bedchamber that may have been like the others in Griffon’s Wing save a few things.

It was larger, clearly a commanding officer’s quarters. Statues of proud griffons with carven feather wingtips stretching to the ceiling stood on either side of the fireplace, marking the room as an ancient Warden-Commander’s. The first thing it’s new occupant, Rylen, had done was bring a personal desk in. Though remarkable Orlesian craftsmanship once, it now overflowed with a mess of burnt down candles, wax and papers of every kind. Thick parchments, half written letters, half read reports, and maps stacked atop it in disarray, sometimes spilling to the floor and left there until Rylen inevitably tore the place apart looking for it. A comparatively simple table stood in the middle of the room, upon which were the remnants of a shared but forgotten meal.  A leg was snagged on the sandy rug from where it had been hastily dragged about; kept against the wall when he needed space, in front of the fireplace when he was social enough to entertain company. Yet the room’s _most_ defining feature, the one that made it truly different, was the Qunari snoring gently beside Rylen on the bed, nose nuzzled into his neck, arm flung across his chest, leg hooking over his hip.

But, Maker, she was bloody heavy.

Rylen cracked his eyes open and scowled at the sun before his realized he was being crushed. But one sidelong look at Keram’s sleeping face and the discomfort all but fled him. She was a peaceful giantess in her sleep, each warm breath against his skin more of a comfort than an annoyance. He had the chance to admire her, her freckles, her scars, the tiny crease that appeared between her eyes while she dreamed. The sight almost made waking up in the morning less awful.

Rylen steeled himself from a half-formed thought about how easy waking next to her could be to do every day.

_How in the world had he bloody come to this?_ All at once Rylen’s thoughts raced over the past few weeks and tried to make sense of it. So much happened so quickly, and he _hated_ to know of that ending that was drawing near. But nearer it came with each new day. And, with each new day, that longing ache became a little harder to ignore.

It had been a half-hope, both a fear and a wish, that abstaining would scare the giantess away. Keram Adaar was a woman who knew what she wanted, that much he had realized many times over. She wanted a plaything (or so he had assumed) and if Rylen took that away then maybe— _maybe_ —she would leave him be and it would all be over. Quickly, with Rylen walking away feeding himself the same lie he always had; by bitterly telling himself that was the way it was supposed to bloody be in the first place.

The truth was far worse for him.

Inquisitor Keram Adaar became a fucking _person_ when they weren’t having sex. Inquisitor Keram Adaar brought him whiskey and told entertaining stories about being a mercenary as they drank together. Inquisitor Keram Adaar laughed at his dry wit and she kissed him on the head whenever she left the Keep. Inquisitor Keram Adaar made sure to see him every day no matter how busy she was and was sure to ask him questions about himself. And more than that, Inquisitor Keram Adaar listened intently to each story he had to share.

But then Inquisitor Keram Adaar held him close the night she chose to stay with him when they’d both drank a shot too many. Inquisitor Keram Adaar had wrapped her body around his in the way no one ever had, giggling and mumbling sleepy nothings as they simply fell asleep together.

Keram was the first woman Rylen woke up beside in no hurry at all to get up and get on with his day.

_Maker’s fucking hairy ass balls!_

The sudden tightness in his chest must have been the weight of her arm as it finally caught up with him. The sudden urge to move must have been his muscles needing to stretch. The ache in his heart…well…he didn’t have a good excuse for that one just yet.

_Yeah, Rylen, that’s bloody it. Run again_ , Rylen thought resentfully as he shifted his weight on the bed and tried to roll out from beneath the Qunari without disturbing her much.

The Inquisitor sighed and adjusted, and Rylen figured he got off scott free until he heard her deep, sleep-rough voice behind him.

“Rylen?” He paused for just a moment in pulling on his breeches and pushed his nagging feeling of panic down before he glanced at her.

“I had a…meeting with Chevin this morning,” he told her gruffly as he reached for his shirt where it lay abandoned on the floor. Last night Keram had wanted to run her fingers over his chest. She had traced the contours of his muscles and asked about his countless scars and it all felt so damn pleasant, who was he to stop her? Another bad decision to heap on top of his others. “I forgot about it until now.” Rylen pulled his boots on before grabbing the scattered pieces of his uniform and heaping them into his breastplate. “Sorry, lass,” he added too belated to sound honest. He cursed himself silently.

“Will you still join me later?”

Stopping in the doorway, Rylen chewed on his lip as he deliberated. He _shouldn’t_. Not anymore. He bloody couldn’t if he knew what was good for him. He was already in far deeper than he should have been. Once again, he’d let it go too fucking far. Once again, he knew he was headed for certain ruin. _Say ‘no’ you codger._ ‘Perhaps not this time.’ ‘I am too busy running this fucking place to get caught up in your mess!’

“Aye,” he said over his shoulder. “At the gates in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

Maker, he could have tossed himself into the Abyssal Rift about now.

Rylen scurried towards the Chevalier’s quarters, warring between thinking too hard and not at all. His thoughts were a sudden whirlwind in his head and his chest tightened with each aggravated step. How was it that he both knew what to do and had no idea what happened next? How was it that in a matter of a few months his life had turned itself completely on its head? Kirkwall, Cullen, the Inquisition, Haven, Corypheus, Skyhold, the Western Approach. When he peeled his life apart in acute detail, it felt as if each miniscule event had led him straight here. Was it much of a stretch to believe it had led him to her? It unnerved him to think about. His every step, his every decision, was for what? To ultimately shake his faith, to upend everything he knew and leave him grasping at broken lines of the Chant searching for answers. Answers that no one fucking had. Some part of him wished for an end. Pain was simple, it was easy to understand. But it was too much to believe for a bloody moment that things could be simple. His life had never fucking had that luxury. Never.

Joining the Templars wasn’t simple. Watching his elder brother leave to never return wasn’t simple. Serving his Order by honoring his vows wasn’t simple. Fixing Kirkwall wasn’t simple. The Conclave wasn’t simple. Forming the Inquisition wasn’t simple. Doing nothing else but finding bodily relief in a beautiful woman wasn’t fucking simple.

Everything had to be complicated. He made everything so _bloody_ complicated. Try as he might to shut himself down or block out the worst pieces of his personality, he _still_ managed to destroy the things he was given. The markings on his face would forever be a testament to _that_ , to his asinine ability to make the largest mess he possibly could at any given moment.

A fuckup, a deserter, and a moron to boot.

The supposed Knight-Captain Rylen summed up in one fucking sentence.

Rylen banged hard on the wooden door of Chevin’s quarters. The sound echoed off the walls of the corridor, loud and obnoxious in the stifling quiet of the morning. Maybe he’d wake all the lieutenants up. Maybe he wanted everyone to be as miserable as he was.

He didn’t wait for a response from the other side. Rylen shouldered the door open and didn’t feel remotely sorry when he found Chevin half-naked under twisted sheets, groaning loudly and rubbing his eyes.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Of _course_ you do.”

“About Ke— _the Inquisitor_.”

“Who else?” Chevin yawned.

“Look, I don’t need you being smug with me or giving me any shit I just—” Rylen dumped his uniform unceremoniously to the floor and he kicked the door closed. He paced the room. He didn’t know bloody where to even begin. He took a slow shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “I just need your fucking help.”

“All right, all right, my friend.” Chevin eased himself out of bed, still sluggish enough that Rylen’s foot began tapping on the stone floor. But Chevin ignored his fidgeting as he ran through a series of minute stretches with careful precision. “Remind me never to ask you for a wakeup call in the future. You are too brusque for my tastes.”

“It’s all spiraling out of my control, Michal.” Rylen didn’t have the patience for pleasantries. Already his hands shook as he tried to grasp for control of his panic. “We had a good thing and I don’t bloody know what happened!”

“I do,” Chevin muttered, but Rylen ignored him.

“I can’t do it any longer. I just can’t. You’ve got to take her away, Michal! You got her out here, you can take her back. She needs to go back to Skyhold. She can’t be here anymore! I can’t…have her here…”

Chevin looked up at Rylen in disbelief. Even though his blue eyes were bleary with sleep, Rylen could see it clearly. He wondered if he looked like quite the sorry sight. Wide eyed? Rattled? Chest heaving and wild with some feeling he hadn’t put his finger on? Maker take his sorry soul to His side…

The other man finally sighed. “It is too early for this, Rylen… I cannot take the Inquisitor ‘back,’ and I would not even if I could—”

“But—”

“ _Don’t_ interrupt me! You dragged me out of bed and woke me from a _fantastic_ dream and— _damnit_ , _Rylen_ —you are going to listen to reason _this_ instant!”

Rylen’s mouth snapped shut and he nodded. He could do that. He could listen. It gave him something else to focus on, something _else_ to do besides dread his later appointment with the Inquisitor or wonder how badly he was going to hurt when she ultimately left.

Nodding with approval, Chevin said much more calmly, “Good. Now, you will calmly explain to me just why it is you have decided you are no longer happy with your arrangement with the Inquisitor.”

“I thought you said you knew?” Rylen muttered.

“I do, but I want to hear _you_ say it.”

Rylen shook his head at his friend but he knew it was useless. He could dance around the topic all he wanted. He could pretend it was something else without actually believing the truth, he could run from it all he wanted, but he could never escape it. This was what he’d come to Chevin for, after all… “I’ve done all this before, Michal, and I remember exactly what happened. A man goes to the same woman over and over again and soon he starts _hoping_ and _then_ he’s left in the dirt. That’s what fucking happens every Maker-damned—”

“Calm,” Chevin reminded him gently. He gestured towards his chest and made a show of taking a deep breath through his nose.

Rylen brushed his irritation aside and complied. “Point is: I can already see it coming. I don’t want to be cast aside again. I don’t think I can take it. But I do know that I am too bloody weak to take care of it proper.”

“What do you want, Rylen?” Chevin interjected suddenly. Rylen heard the exasperation in his voice but he couldn’t for the life of him understand where it bloody came from.

“What do you mean? I want her gone.”

“No, no. What do you _want?_ Are you the love-struck man from the Herald’s Rest or are you this frightened child? What do you want? Which _are_ you?”

“I’m the friend asking for your help,” Rylen growled.

“No! Wrong. I cannot help you if I do not know which you are! _Which are you, Rylen_?”

The two men stared at each other for long moments, their determined glowers never straying. Rylen couldn’t say if he was trying to bully his way out of the question nor could he articulate why _not_ answering mattered so bloody much to him. What he _wanted_ from Chevin was assurance. He sought meaningless words and a promise to fix it. What he was _getting_ was a fucking soul search.

Rylen averted his eyes and studied the patterns of the wood in Chevin’s bed. When he spoke, it was only a whisper. Any more and he might have cracked. “What do you want from me, Michal? I just want to live my sorry life in peace.” The corners of his eyes burned but he ground his teeth to keep his composure. The last thing he wanted was to show just how jilted he still was.

Chevin heaved a huge sigh and pushed himself from the bed. Rylen’s words hung in the air as the chevalier rummaged in his knapsack for a fresh shirt and wandered to the mirror hung in the corner.

“What’re you—?”

“I need to think.”

The other man stared at his reflection intently and ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed blonde hair several times until it found its usual unkempt, windswept appearance. Chevin leaned so close to the mirror he nearly touched it with his nose as he moved individual strands around to his liking; a meticulous arrangement to appear coincidental. Rylen almost laughed at his vain friend. Watching the routine grounded him somewhat, almost made him calm again. At least _his_ biggest problem wasn’t how his bloody hair looked. At least _he_ didn’t waste time with that foolishness.

At least he knew what was truly important. His brows knit as he wondered what that important thing actually was…

When Chevin turned back to him, he was every bit the flawless pretty boy Rylen had come to expect. He was Orlesian, he was romantic and, Maker, at least his fucking hair was in perfect place. Rylen started to smile, to say something snide to Chevin when the Chevalier gripped both his arms tightly and bored into his face with a shockingly steely gaze.

“I am _sorry_ you were hurt once, Rylen. I am _sorry_ you are afraid now. I wished to look after you and I wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing and maybe you are right, things got far out of hand. I tried to encourage a spark in someone that I thought wanted love—”

“Love? No, that’s not—”

“Shut up! I am sorry, too, that I so grossly miscalculated. I cannot and will not send the Inquisitor away, and neither can you. But take heart, my friend, for soon…she will have to leave of her own accord. More regions require her attention than just the Western Approach. Maker, other countries require her! On top of that, the ball at Halamshiral is fast upon us. The Inquisitor _can **not**_ stay.

“If you are truly having second thoughts, if you _truly_ no longer wish to pursue her further, take comfort in those facts. Once she leaves, she is gone. Your…problems, this _whatever_ this may be, will peter out and go away just as you wish.”

Chevin’s words sunk into Rylen’s brain slowly. He struggled to understand each as though his head was foggy with magic. It was impossible, really, anything more between the Inquisitor and himself. It was arrogant of him to think that a relationship could go in in a world like this. The Inquisitor had better things to do and he was only one person in an entire world that needed her. _Whatever this may be will peter out and go away just as you wish_ … Yet the real question was: was _that_ what he wanted? Now that Chevin had said it out loud, the reassurance grated against his skin. Now that it was voiced, it seemed real. And now that it was real, Rylen didn’t know the damn answer.

The Chevalier’s hands slid from Rylen’s arms and he patted him consolingly on the shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You do not have much longer to wait. Just however long it takes to kill a dragon—”

Rylen’s eyes widened as reality snapped back into place in sharp relief. His breath stuck in his throat as he gasped, “A dragon?”

“That is what I heard. That researcher wants to—”

Andraste’s tits! Rylen about faced and raced from the room so fast he barely heard Chevin’s shout after him.

“Wait! Rylen! Your armor!!”

He skidded to a halt and very nearly fell backwards. He forgot—his fucking armor—fuck! Was _this_ the big secret of what Keram was doing tomorrow? Why hadn’t she fucking _told_ him? Was that what she was preparing for today?

Rylen rounded the corner back into Chevin’s room and hastily pulled on pieces, haphazardly yanking on buckles and tying knots. He hardly noticed what he was doing, hoping instinct did the job good enough.

“RYLEN!”

He looked up suddenly, a snarl on his lips when he saw Chevin pointing behind him. Rylen whirled and found the messenger boy in the doorway. His eyes flitted between them uncertainly and he clutched a sealed scroll tightly in his hands.

“ _What?”_

“Erm, the Inquisitor said you would be here—”

“Spit it out, boy!” Rylen had a woman to dissuade from fighting a fucking dragon. He didn’t have time to be stalled.

To the boy’s credit, he didn’t even flinch at Rylen’s tone. “It’s a letter to you, Ser. Direct from Ambassador Montilyet.”


	8. He Was Surprised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen's got more on his mind than he can handle, but it seems he's not the only one.

Rylen battled joy _and_ dizzying worry as he leapt down Griffon Wing’s stairs two at a time.

On the one hand, the Ambassador’s letter was next to Maker-sent. He could have kissed her for her flawless timing. She called for him to relinquish the Inquisitor, to send her back to make ready for the Empress’ ball. “The festivities at the Winter Palace grow perilously close”—Rylen could hear the tizzy she must have been in—“and your ineptitude in the Approach should not be the Inquisitor's concern!” While the unsubtle dig was one of his favorite lines, Ambassador Montilyet had a point. He had distracted her for long enough. Inquisitor Adaar had some ways to go before she would be at all ready to greet Orlesian nobility.

Rylen had to agree with her.

He amused himself for a moment, trying and failing to imagine the giantess at the Winter Palace as she was now. Blunt, headstrong, and obstinate. No matter how he framed it, he didn't see her putting up with any of those masked sods for longer than a few minutes. And that was _damn_ optimistic. Although he couldn’t help feeling like he was throwing Keram to savage wolves by acquiescing, he would forgive himself for his own selfishness later. He was too close to the bloody woman for his own good. At least this gave him an easy out.

On the other hand, the flood of relief that had come at solving what he had previously believed to be his most pressing problem _paled_ when he realized that none of it would bloody matter if the blighted woman got herself _killed by a_ _dragon_.

Maybe she was doing it on purpose. He’d be hard pressed to admit that he wouldn’t rather fight a high dragon than go to some Orlesian party. But that still didn’t explain why he felt so…betrayed. She was planning on trotting off to fight a High Dragon without so much as an aside to him. There was no way that in all their numerous and long conversations, she _never_ had an opportunity to slip in an, “Oh, by the way, Knight-Captain….” So, what was she bloody getting at?

Rylen reached the last flight of steps into the courtyard and found her waiting exactly where she had promised.

Keram lounged against the eastern wall of the front gates, looking completely at ease around the merchants and soldiers. And they, for their part, ignored her. They didn't even bother to give her a wide berth anymore. She'd been here too long for that now.

He watched her close her eyes and turn her lovely face to the morning sun, a small smile stretching over her lips.

_What could she have been thinking, trying to sneak off to fight a dragon?_ he wondered with a wistful pang. _Without even giving him a chance to…_

For several heartbeats, all he wanted to do was look at her. She was a magnificent creature, the soft morning light playing over her upturned face. She hadn’t bothered with her armored coat today. All she wore were her riding pants tucked into her boots and a breezy olive-colored cotton shirt. Keram didn’t even have her staff with her. For a moment, Rylen wondered if he should have left his armor too, but he banished the thought immediately. He was still very prone to being killed by most everything out in that blighted desert; Keram was all beauty and raw power; not wholly unlike a bloody dragon herself.

But even she was one person, and no match for a _true_ fire-breathing beast.

Desperation and anger flared in Rylen’s chest with a suddenness that stole the air from his lungs. Well, the jig was up and he knew now. _If ever was a time to be a stubborn ass, Rylen, it’s **now**_ , he thought fiercely and stomped towards Keram. He was ready to fight her, ready to bloody tie her down if need be, but before he even had a compelling opening, she opened her eyes and spotted him.

She lit up as her gaze flicked up and down his person and she let out a loud laugh that had nearby men jumping and staring around at her in disbelief.

Rylen tried to ignore how furious their interested stares made him.

“Oh, what’s wrong, Basvaarad?” she cooed in a mocking voice. “Was the chevalier too rough with you this morning?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at her, forgetting about the dragon for a moment. “I-I—”

“I swear on your gods if _he’s_ getting laid and I’m not…”

Curious stares shifted between the two of them and Rylen could have sworn that he heard snickering. That was when he remembered he’d never bothered to put his armor on properly. Scowling, his hands flew to his plate as he glanced down at the bedraggled mess of his uniform.

“Say the word and I can make that mean Orlesian pay,” Keram said, sauntering towards him. She reached out and yanked his breastplate out of his hands and back into place like it was nothing. The sharp movement made his bloody feet leave the ground and more laughter reached his ears.

Her teasing, the men giggling, and with his nerves already strained to the breaking point, he snapped. “Just _shove it!”_ Rylen snarled at her, jerking away and blushing furiously.

Maker, he wished he hadn’t. Keram’s smile slid away and she eyed him coldly. The little audience they had accrued very conspicuously went about their own business. Rylen’s heart withered with shame.

“I meant nothing by it. Who you chose to sleep with is up to you. Now if you’re finally ready, we can start before it gets too inhospitable.” Her words felt as distant as her stare.

Gulping past the lump in his throat, Rylen nodded.

Keram led him out and away from Griffon Wing Keep and into the Dust Plains with sure feet while guilt churned in his stomach. It wasn’t long before she had pulled ahead of him and seeing as he didn’t much feel like talking, he decided to leave it be.

As the sun crept higher over the tops of weathered sandstone bluffs, his long ingrained Templar chivalry got the better of him. He apologized for his piss-poor behavior, but Keram showed no signs of acknowledgment.

_Great_ , he thought bitterly. She was ignoring him now.

Rylen let it be, his shoulders sagging. Though he figured he deserved a non-response, he still wanted to clear the air. “Just to clarify, I’m _not_ sleeping with Chevin. I don’t think I could stomach it. He’s not soft enough for my tastes, lass. Plus, he would never let me muss up his pretty hair, and you know that’s one of my favorite things to do.”

He heard Keram snort and then try to cover the sound with a cough. Rylen smiled to himself as the knot of tension in his gut loosened a wee bit. Maybe he hadn’t totally fucked things up. Maybe there was still hope for a sod like him.

Or maybe he was better off keeping her angry with him. It'd be easier to see her go then.

Their silence continued as the sun moved higher in the sky until it was nearly at its peak. Rylen had forgotten how astounding the Approach could be when the heat didn’t make it miserable. He spent most of his morning quietly observing desert hawks soar away from nests tucked high into the sandstone cliffs. He noted that the buttes changed colors from umber to russet orange, from desert ochres to bleached tans, all within the same tower of rock. He imagined he could see the fine lines running along the grains, that he could connect the streaks of yellow and red in them, like lines on a map that he couldn’t quite read.

Looking at the rocks did wonders to ease his mind. It helped, he supposed, to look at something that was bigger than his petty problems. The jagged mesas and cliffs had survived the Tevinter Imperium and a damn Blight, yet they were still here and still beautiful. He hoped he could prove as immovable as the towering sandstone in the days ahead.

They climbed down sets of large, flat, table-like rocks that Rylen could only assume were the “Giant’s Staircase” that he’d seen so often labeled on maps, and stopped for a rest. When they had situated themselves in the shade of a large overhanging step, he let his eyes wander to the horizon. Better that than to look at her and get any funny ideas. Instead, he noticed over his canteen, great natural arches curving under the clear sky. Rylen counted them. Seven, that he could see. How had they ever gotten there, he wondered. Did the Maker shape it as a sculptor shaped clay? What a fanciful notion. But what else could have shaped the land if not some grand architect? Especially when water was so bloody scarce.

He didn't have to wonder for long.

After they left the steps behind them, a chill wind blew in from the east. At first, Rylen thanked the Maker for it. It was the only thing that kept him from roasting to death in his armor when the sun rose ever higher. But when it started kicking dust devils up into his bloody eyes, he was far less fucking grateful.

Rylen had to squint and hold his hood against the worst of the swirling sand, just so he wouldn't trip over his feet. How the hell was Keram managing _so much better_ than he was? She hardly faltered in her step and she forged on like it was nothing. Was it some kind of Qunari magic he wasn’t privy to? If it was, would it have killed her to kick some his way?

He was wiping furiously at his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time this trip when he walked right into her.

“We’re here, Basvaarad. The southern end of Lost Wash Creek.”

She and Rylen stood at the edge of a deep ravine formed by sheer, sandy cliffs, all but hidden by low-hanging scrub brush. Keram strode to the edge without hesitation, but he scanned the ground critically anyway. The cliffs looked sound, so far as he could tell. The only eroded bit being a meter-wide stretch twenty paces to their left, crumbled into little more than sand. He edged forward, testing his weight on the rocks until he could peer past the ghoul’s beard clinging to the side.

Sand and a flowing creek gave way to scrub grass which turned to lush patches of green spattered with elfroot and golden wildflowers. A flowing creek spilled into a clear pool where it calmed the running water into glassy stillness. Rylen strained his eyes to see where it flowed out but there were only dark ochre cliffs on all sides of the miniature box canyon. Clusters of tall juniper trees sprouted close to the edge of the pool. They were heartier than any other tree Rylen had seen in the Approach; their roots reaching for water and their branches stretching towards the sunlight. A pair of Brontos lounged beneath the thick shade while little, white fennecs scampered after each other’s tails in the long grass. It was clear that the wind wasn’t as fierce below, swaying the soft grasses and dipping reeds of blood lotus into the pool, rippling the perfect water. It was an otherworldly oasis a mere half a day’s hike from Griffon Wing.

And he had never known it had existed. Who would have bloody thought?

Keram cast him a quick glance and smiled at his wonder before she darted away and leapt down over the spill of eroded sand. Rylen’s heart jumped to his throat. He scrambled after her to try and catch her hand until he realized that it wasn’t sheer there at all.

He spluttered and choked on the dust she kicked up as she slid down the only sloping embankment. When it was clear enough, Rylen tried to follow her as best as he could. Maker’s balls. If he didn’t already have sand in all the most unpleasant places, he did now.

As they drew nearer to the bottom, the smaller animals scattered. The brontos snorted warnings at them from under their trees. The large male scuffed at the ground with his foreleg and made a show of the horns on his nose, but Keram paid them no mind. She was already crouched on the ground in a patch of elfroot by the time Rylen had stumbled to a stop at the base of the gorge.

Rylen watched her strip the stalks of their broad leaves and tried not to imagine what she was meaning to use them for. When could he ask about it if she intended to give him a cold shoulder for the rest of this trip? He would have to suck it up and start somewhere.

“It’s funny, lass,” he said with a somewhat forced smile, “I never took you for an avid gardener.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “And I never took you for a huge ass.”

Rylen winced. He deserved that one, he supposed.

With a sigh, he knelt across from her and began helping her pick the fuzzy leaves and place them in her open rucksack. He cast her a quick wary glance before musing, “I suppose it makes sense. With your green thumb and all.”

Keram shuffled to a new spatter of growth and shot him a glare. “Beg pardon?”

“Well, on your _left_ hand, at least,” he chuckled to himself. He glanced up to gauge her reaction from beneath his eyelashes.

Her lips twitched into a quick smile, a laugh strangling in her throat before she rearranged her face and scowled at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked with an innocent grin. Maker’s breath, all it took was that smile and his chest felt lighter already.

Keram’s eyes narrowed. “That! That’s the _second_ time you’ve done that. You know what you’re doing, Basvaarad, not stop it.” She finished stripping the last few stalks a little too aggressively and shoved a few whole plants into her bag before she stood. As she turned away and moved closer to the water’s edge Rylen scrambled after her with a handful of leaves. The bronto bellowed in his direction and he shot it a nasty glare.

“Come on, lass. You aren’t really asking me to stop making you laugh, are you?”

“Just when were you planning on telling me about _this_?” She whirled on him and held up Ambassador Josephine’s missive. Rylen blinked and patted down his person.

“When in the bloody hell did you get that?” He made to grab for it but Keram held it out of his reach. “Alright. But just when were _you_ planning on telling me about your plans to fight a dragon? Was it _after_ I made you all the bloody healing potions? Or when I’d have to pick pieces of you out from its teeth?”

Keram’s eyes flashed and the hairs on the back of his neck raised. The air shivered between them with waves of heat that hadn’t been there moments ago. “I do not answer to you!” she snarled. “Nor do I answer to Josephine! So, what is the meaning of this? Conspiring to get rid of me? Shall you pawn the dreaded Inquisitor Adaar on someone else?” Her face was calm, but her wavering voice betrayed her. Rylen could feel the lyrium prickle uncomfortably beneath his skin as the temperature around them grew hotter.

Half-unconsciously, he adjusted his stance in the grass and felt the cold rush of power spring to his fingertips. Years of practice made him keep his expression decidedly neutral.

“I only got that letter this morning. As you read, it is the Ambassador asking for you, not me trying to get rid of you. Why would _I_ send you away? I don’t want you to leave, lass.” Rylen kicked himself as soon as he said it. Wasn’t he begging Chevin this morning to take her away? Why couldn’t he just fucking make up his mind? He would regret those words, he knew. Not that they would bite him in the ass, but because they were _true_.

Chevin’s words from that morning wormed their way into his mind before he could shove them aside: ‘ _What do you want, Rylen?’_

Maker knew he could never admit what he wanted.

Rylen cleared his throat and said, “You _have_ to go to the Winter Palace. You are Inquisitor, after all.”

“You can _relax_ , Basvaarad,” Keram hissed, her eyes never leaving his. “If I was going to burn you, you couldn’t stop me. You’d be ashes already. Put your silly _Circle_ _magic_ away.” Out of the corner of his eye, Rylen watched as the missive burst into flame in her hand and curled away. He shivered and wondered if it was true. He’d heard tell that Qunari magic was different but was a Templar truly unable to stop it? She spoke again, jarring him from his thoughts. “Has it occurred to you that I do not wish to go to the Winter Palace?”

“And you’d rather get killed by a dragon?”

“You have so little faith, for a Chantry soldier,” she scoffed. And with that, she turned away and stalked down a narrow path hugging the rock face.

He sped after her. “Don’t walk away from me—”

“And why not? I believe we are done talking.”

“Not even close,” Rylen growled. “Look, I am _sorry_ , Keram. I am sorry I snapped at you, and I’m sorry you have to deal with the Winter Palace shit. I know that I sure as fuck don’t want to be there, but this is not about what we _want_ to do. Right now, the Inquisition cannot do any more than attack the Warden’s supply lines and hit their tiny ass outposts without the support of Orlais. We’re powerful but not almighty. We cannot act on the information that you and Warden Loghain have gathered until Orlais is no longer distracted by its petty little civil war. To do that, you have to go the Winter Palace and throw your lot in with one of those fuckheads. Even now, Corypheus is over there in the west amassing a fucking demon army that will march over the world and slaughter all of us and _you_ _want to waste your time going head to head with high dragons!?”_

Keram looked back at him, her expression apathetic. “Are you finished, Basvaarad?”

Of all the infuriating and reckless— Rylen scowled and opened his mouth to give her another earful when she cut him off.

“ _I know._ ” Her eyebrows knit, and for the first time that Rylen could recall, her gaze left his first. She looked out over the clear water, her face distant. “I know I must return. I know I must stop the Wardens. I know that to do this, the Empire must back the Inquisition. Do not mistake me for an imbecile. I intend to make Corypheus pay for what he’s done to me. Forgive me if I dared to—” Her lips pursed and, shaking her head, she stared at the sky instead.

Rylen waited, his pulse quickening. _What had you dared to do, lass?_ He was selfish enough to hope it had something to do with him. His body ached to hold her, he teetered, fingers longing to take her hand. He reached out reflexively... and grabbed the pommel of his sword with a sigh.

_No_ , he told himself. _No, you’d better not._

“I was never going to fight that dragon,” Keram murmured, her eyes returning to his. “But if I _did_ go to fight her, at least that would have been _my own_ choice, and no one else’s.”

He cocked his head and eyed her as if he was seeing her anew. Whatever vulnerable moment she had felt had passed, but Rylen was still in shock. He…had never believed her capable. He had talked himself into believing she was some sort of demon greater and more tempting than him. Keram was above him in all things, neatly placed in his mind as something out of his reach. The time they spent at the Keep together brought them closer, made her real, but never like this.

This was something else…and he didn’t know quite what to make of her anymore.

Her eyebrow quirked. “You’re staring,” she told him.

“Aye.”

She glanced back out over the pool and wondered, “Do you swim, Basvaarad?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

Keram’s impish grin was the last thing he saw before his feet left the ground and he splashed headfirst into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao

**Author's Note:**

> A giant thank you to [Madelief](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelief/pseuds/Madelief) for being the most insistent poker. And continuing to poke me for more and more content.


End file.
